The Hollywood Guy (18 page)

“Isn’t that why he moved to Woodstock?”

In his office, Pete punches in a number on the cordless phone, switches to speaker mode.

“Marcus Bergman.” It’s the Vietnamese assistant.

“Pete Stevens calling.”

“He wants you to die.”

“Tell Marcus, Petur Stevens wants to pitch his take on
Strawberries
.”

He’s put on hold, listens to Eminem over the phone.

Bergman picks up. “Why would a guy who lives under a dark cloud call me?”

No comeback from Pete, he’s all business, launching straight in to his pitch. “I see
Strawberries
as a musical. A Rock and Roll Legend is being honored at the Kennedy Center. On his way to D.C. he passes through his hometown and relives crucial moments from his past, you know family, first gigs, early loves, events that shaped his life. I want to use the Legend’s songbook to tell the story.”

“An original jukebox musical for the big screen.”

“But so much richer because it’s based on
Wild Strawberries
.”

“Brilliant, I love it, let’s do it.”

“Make a deal with my agent.”

“I talk to David every day. You know something Petur, we work well off one another.”

Many people have said that to Pete unaware he was stoned when they brainstormed - but did it matter? “One small thing, I need $50 K up front as a show of good faith.”

“Show of good faith? $50 K before a deal is negotiated? Why would I do that?”

“Because it will buy you a first draft at a cut rate price you’ll never get from my agent. I’m offering you a major discount for cash, not an industry standard.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Marcus you don’t trust the old me, the one you heard about. You’re talking to Petur Stevens, the new me who you call brilliant. Let’s say $40 K.”

“Thirty-five.”

“Deal, but I need the money right away and I mean immediately. Call David.” He hangs up before Marcus can change his mind and there’s Annabeth standing in the doorway with a big grin on her face.

“Petur?”

“My Icelandic name.”

“I thought you don’t feature that side of your background.”

“Turns out Icelanders are very funny people.”

“If you say so. Ready to go to rehearsal?”

“One more call.” He dials Howard Green. “Howard, Pete Stevens.”

“I was expecting your call.”

“Your uncle says you specialize in drug felonies.”

“My partner is an ex-DA.”

“What will it cost to get a first time offender off?”

“Depends on the circumstances, three thousand dollars is the ballpark fee.”

“Sounds fair. I’ll call you first thing in the morning and set up a meeting.” He hangs up.

“Dad, are you sure you can cover all this?”

“The
Strawberries
deal makes everything possible.”

•   •   •

Pete follows Jackson’s van out of town. Money, money, money, when he lived in New York he never had any, but his lifestyle with Samantha didn’t cost much. When he moved to LA, he started earning more than he ever dreamed he could. Heidi taught him how to spend it. He didn’t save a penny during the time he was with her. Barbara was not a materialist. They lived well and she invested wisely. It wasn’t until his gambling careened out of control that he started to piss money away.

Jackson’s van turns down Zena Road, Mary Ann’s road. Pete used to drive over here once a week hoping to see a light on at the Downing Farm. As time passed the abandoned house started to depress him and he avoided coming this way. Mary Ann was dead, she was never coming home.

An electric fiddle echoes across a field of stubble, the ghostly Downing farmhouse is dark but lights are on in the barn. Under a sickle moon the van turns up the driveway.

The band rehearses here? Pete parks next to the barn, sits behind the wheel, transfixed, imagining Mary Ann leading Little Petey by the hand to the kitchen door. Pete climbs out of the pickup, walks over to the house and tries the door - locked.

“Dad.” A pissed off Annabeth surprises him. “If you tell someone a story and he turns it into a song, does that make you the co-writer?”

“Is the song in your words?”

“Not exactly, plus he changed the ending.”

“Some would call that appropriation.”

“I hate you.” She runs off.

Pete never liked being told by his daughter that she hated him. It hurt every time. Barbara, his learned wife, said he was too literal. Annabeth was actually expressing her love for him. That didn’t fly with Pete. It’s hurtful and she knows it.

Pete enters the barn. Aside from all the band paraphernalia, it is structurally the same. He runs his hand along the hand carved wooden beams, looks out the window at the moonlit meadow and listens to the band work on the new song.

Jim plays an infectious melody on fiddle. Sam adds an off-center vamp on banjo. Jackson plays a Memphis shuffle on rhythm guitar. Do-Rag fills the low end. Quinn rides the backbeat. Jackson sings about a boy unable to hook up with a girl who is never where she is supposed to be. She either just left or never arrives. The only contact the two make is by texting. The song has a surprising sense of humor. Pete likes it immediately.

“I wrote it with Anna B.” Jackson grins.

Annabeth stands in the doorway feeling a rush of excitement and pride. Her version had the boy and girl finally meet and not like one another. This is much better but what is more important, he acknowledges her as co-writer.

Pete dances to the funky beat. He gestures to his daughter; she knows his moves well, falls in step.

“Long time since we cut a rug.”

“Not since ‘Spirit In The Sky’ at my Bat Mitzvah.”

“Way too long.”

Over the next several hours Jackson and the Sidewinders run down their repertoire for Pete. Sometimes he sits with his eyes closed, nodding his head, listening intensely. Occasionally he dances with his daughter; all the while, the ghost of his mother does a jigsaw puzzle at the kitchen table.

T
he Streamside is sold out and a check for the rewrite has been deposited taking immediate pressure off the advance for
Strawberries
, the musical. Pete lies on the couch illuminated by the TV, flipping between another Yankees/Twins playoff game and
Saturday Night Fever
on TCM. He has a yellow legal pad ready in case he has any ideas. To ordinary people Pete might seem to be tubing out. What they don’t understand is that thanks to OCD a writer’s subconscious works 24/7.

The Twins, down two games in the five game series, can be eliminated tonight. They hold a slim 1-0 lead after six, but in the seventh, A-Rod and Posada hit back-to-back dingers to go ahead. Pete hops gingerly around the living room.

Pettitte is on the mound in the bottom of the seventh when the phone rings, identifying David. He mutes the TV.

“Why do you call me your agent when we have no papers?”

“You discovered me.”

“I can’t believe Bergman still wants to work with you.”

“He owns the rights to
Wild Strawberries
and I have a fantastic take on the material.”

“He told me - a jukebox musical for the big screen.”

“A Rock and Roll musical about a living legend revisiting his past on his way to being honored at the Kennedy Center. Marcus loves it, he agreed to give me $35 K up front for a first draft.”

“That’s chump change.”

“I need the cash.”

“I thought you stopped gambling.”

“I have serious business interests that I’m struggling to keep afloat.”

“You own a fucking motel Pete.”

“I’m producing a band’s demo on the side.”

“The music business is in the toilet.”

“David, the country is in the toilet, but life goes on. Get me the advance.”

“Whatever you’re smoking, send me some.”

“If you weren’t fucking my wife, we might still be friends.”

“Ex-wife. A pleasure talking to you, my man, I have a back end to negotiate.”

Pettitte shuts down the Twins in the bottom of the seventh, Pete flips channels.

Saturday Night Fever
, strobe lights flash to a pulsating Disco beat. Unbelievably young John Travolta in an ice cream suit struts across a glowing dance floor, dramatically raising his right arm like a bullfighter entering the arena.

Pete’s mind wanders to
Strawberries
. Chuck Berry could be the legend. Bob would never do it but Neil might, or Paul Simon and what about Sir Paul? All are fantastic choices. He imagines the legend revisiting his first love who can’t deal with his inflated ego, musicians he used and discarded, the manager he fired, wives and lovers he abandoned, not a nice guy, but they call him a genius. At the end of the movie when the legend receives his medal and stands on the pedestal acknowledging the applause of the crowd, what are his feelings exactly? To be continued. Pete jots down his ideas, embryonic at best, flips back to the game as Phil Hughes takes the mound, his job to protect the 2-1 lead for the Yanks in the eighth and turn the game over to their great closer Mariano Rivera in the ninth. Nick Punto hits a lead off double. Here come the Twins.

The front door opens, it’s Cleo in her Smokey the Bear outfit; Dicey races in behind her, licks Pete’s face. “Are we working?”

“Come and watch the end of the game. Eighth inning, Yanks can clinch tonight.” He sits up stiffly making a place for her, never taking his eyes off the TV.

Punto, the Twins runner takes a big lead off second, the pitcher throws one in the dirt; the catcher blocks the ball, holding the runner. On the next pitch, the batter connects for distance but the ball curves foul. Pete notices her eyeing the legal pad. “Never know when an idea might materialize.”

On TV, the batter gets a single off the glove of the second baseman. Punto thinks about trying to score, makes a wide turn at third. Nick Swisher, the right fielder, hustles in, comes up firing and throws behind the runner who, unable get back to third, is tagged out. Amazing play. Pete leaps to his feet pumping his fist, wincing in pain. “Way to go! Way to go!”

“I need to do something about your back.”

“After the game.”

“I promise a happy ending.” She winks at Pete, goes upstairs, taking the legal pad with her.

The Yankees will have to clinch the Division Series without him.

“Undress,” Cleo commands, rolling out his yoga mat. “Lie on your stomach, close your eyes and relax.”

Pete takes his clothes off.

“These notes are for something called,
Strawberries
, what’s that all about?”

Pete sits in half lotus. “I sold a new idea that will finance our project.”

“New idea?”

“What can I say? Interacting with you has put me in a creative mood. It’s a musical.”

“First there was a series.”

“I passed, like I said I would.”

“Then Jackson’s demo.”

“A week of non-exclusive work, a labor of love.”

“And now you’re writing a musical?”

“On the side, no deadline, our book is the priority.”

“Meaning?”

“The screenplay is in second position.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

“I believe you.”

When was the last time anyone said that to him?

Cleo strips off her clothes, folds them neatly, and then liberally oils her arms, legs and torso. Pete smiles appreciatively. “I have to go to a wedding next Saturday, I want you to come with me.”

“Who’s getting married?”

“My best friend’s daughter, near Miami.”

“Desirée loves to watch guys fuck in South Beach.”

“Is that a yes?”

Cleo shakes her head. “Miami is a no fly zone for me.”

“You said that about LA.”

“I feel safe here.” She hugs Pete. “Lie down on your stomach.”

“Must I?”

“What did I promise?”

Pete does as told.

Desirée oils him down. “A Thai masseuse taught me this sacred technique. You have to remain absolutely still to receive the full benefit of the treatment.” She lays face down on Pete’s back pressing her oiled body against his. “My nipples press prime points on either side of your spine, my mound of Venus lines up against your coccyx.” She slithers back and forth.

Pete groans. “I feel better already.”

“You can come this way.” She continues to slither.

“I’d rather be inside you.”

“This is more therapeutic.” Her oily skin is heating up, so is his. “On your back, don’t move.”

Pete rolls over – he has a hard on. Cleo slides up and down his body, allowing the shaft of his cock to rub against her clitoris.”

“Which one of us does Petey like better?”

“I love you both.” He looks deep into her eyes.

“Who do you see?”

“The real you.”

“There isn’t a real me.” Desirée’s body undulates.

Pete tries to enter her.

“What did I tell you?”

Unwillingly, he remains motionless.

Cleo returns to deliver the happy ending, her body sliding back and forth vibrating all over. “Pete,” she gasps.

“Cleo!” Pete moans letting go.

Ten minutes after coitus, Cleo reads off Pete’s computer
. “Marshalltown, a neat farming community in central Iowa, was settled by Scandinavian Lutherans in the late 19th century. These self-reliant, industrious, optimistic people thank God every day for leading them to the promised land. Twins, Camille and Amber shared a Kodachrome childhood in a modest house with a wide veranda. Marshalltown is the perfect place to raise a family.

Cleo puts a finger down her throat.

“That bad?”

“Kodachrome childhood? Where did that come from?”

“The narrator.”

“Why do we need a bland narrator?”

“Delete the page.”

“Really?”

“It sucks.”

Cleo smiles, deletes the text. “I love working with you.”

“And me you.”

“Not Desirée?”

“I said, I love you both.”

“You’re working with Cleo who wanted to finish college, not be a swimsuit model or fuck whomever Roy wanted her to. Desirée could out fuck anyone she worked with. That’s her claim to fame, mine will be the book.”

“What happened to Roy?”