The Movie (7 page)

It had been the research that had done it. Finding out exactly where she’d come from, a little Irish village called Dunkenny, and then arranging to have the local paper flown in for a week. Other guys would have ordered a Chanel suit or bought a little sports car. But David Taube

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was more imaginative than that. He’d worked on the rule he applied to everyone and everything - find out what they want, then give it to them.

It worked with Colleen McCallum. She’d signed up to SKI the day the third paper arrived, put herself in Tauber’s hands, and the rest was a breeze. He’d put her on a strict vegetarian diet, sent her to a trainer and a very expert, very discreet New York phstic surgeon, and fired her old record producer. They got a stylist to eliminate the faded prettiness and pink chiffon numbers, and Tanber began the rebirth. First, they stiffed MCA for a huge budget rise and hired the best country-and-western producer in the business, and the new, mature, degant, slender Colleen had come out with a middle-of-the road hybrid they called “Celtic Country’. It sold across Midwest America like it was going out of style. Then, by dint of months of old fashioned grovelling, he got Colleen onto an Oprah special on comebacks, where mid-show she broke down in team, confessing a past addiction to drugs and alcohol and her rebirth in Christ Jesus. Sales in the Midwest soared, the prdss got involved, Tauber found her a support slot in a Fred Florescu remake of one of her old movies, playing the mother of her original character, and one season later she had an Oscar nomination and a big-rated chat show on one of the Christian networks.

Colleen McCallum had been David Tauber’s shot, and one had been all he needed. Weird that it was someone like Colleen who had brought him .Zach Mason. But that C&W producer knew everybody, and the music business, as Tauber had discovered, was a very small place indeed…

He dried himself briskly and slipped into his Joseph Abboud suit. Milk-chocolate cashmere, the perfect weight and cut and colour for a midmorning pitch. Set offhis sandy hair and gleaming tan, too. After all, Sam had made such a big deal about Eleanor Marshall chairing the meeting, and

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Marshall was a woman, after all. A woman with the power to green-light his project. A woman with the power to make his career.

Then he could really tell Kevin Scott to go fuck himself. He wanted that loser out of the agency. He wanted to break tkoxana and Zach together.

He checked himself out in the mirror. Armani shoes, leather briefcase, classic Wayfarer shades, and a movie package that Sam Kendrick had OK’d himself.

David Tauber was ready to go to work.

Sam Kendrick strode into the Artemis lobby like a pro football player or a running politician. He always moved that way when he was under stress; kind of a natural defence mechanism. Nobody would ever guess it, the way he beamed at the receptionist and headed down the right corridor’to Eleanor Marshall’s office without being asked. The secretaries and a few low-level female execs sighed slightly as he passed. Kendrick had that rolling confidence, that animal gait to his body that spoke of money, power and excess testosterone. Such was the force of Kendrick’s personality that they almost missed the incredibly cute young guy dogging his left heel. The blond who looked like a refugee from Muscle Beach. o. kind of young to be turning up to a meeting like this. Which meant he was a new kid on the block, one of the handful that get straight on the fast track every year.., more female sighing. Studio work didn’t give a young woman a lot of time for socializing. David Tauber smiled at each one.of them, right in the eyes.

‘OK, guys, are we ready?’ Sam asked his-team as they stepped out into the back lot, standing in front of the small exclusive building where Tom, Eleanor and a few of the most senior VPs had their offices. ‘Are we all clear on everything?’

They nodded: Tauber, who was repping Zach and

tLoxana; Mike Campbell, head of his domestic movie division, who was repping Fred Florescu; and Kevin Scott, because Sam needed a script guy to be in on this. Kendrick winced again at the sight of Kevin’s crumpled tweeds. Couldn’t the guy get some style lessons from his movie boys? Mike, in his regular black Armani, and the Tauber kid in that chi-chi little brown deal? Personally, Kendrick didn’t like a man who so obviously took trouble over his appearance. Seemed a little faggoty. But shit, the girls in the offce seemed to melt into a pool of seething hormones all over Tauber’s feet. And it was his first big meeting as an equal with agency hotshots, so Sam guessed he could dress how he liked. Maybe Eleanor Marshall would go for it too, ,but Sam knew Eleanor and he doubted it. The Ice Queen

was all business, always had been.

‘We should be clear, after that briefing you just gave us,’ Campbell replied.

Sam grinned. He’d had them all meet at SKI an hour earlier, just so he could hone this pitch to perfection.

,‘You got that right. Eleanor Marshall is our best shot. She’s new, she came from Marketing, she badly wants to do a deal and we badly want to help her. And if any of you assholes screws it up for me, I’m gonna give you a new one.’

Kevin Scott frowned at his boss’s language, but said nothing.

‘We won’t screw it up,’ DavidTauber said soothingly.

‘Not if you want to stay working for me,’ Kendrick confirmed grimly, unimpressed.

The SKI group walked inside the dark glass doors and Sam announced them to another receptionist, who rose in a graceful slither of Donna Karan and conducted them across acres of original-weave Persian carpet to Tom Goldman’s office.

‘That’sOK, hon, we can take it from here,’ Sam said.

‘Welcome, gentlemen, come in,’ Eleanor Marshall sad, standing to greet them.

Tauber noticed that Kendrick, Campbell and Scott almost involuntarily straightened themselves. Christ, he was doing it too! How did she do that? Maybe it was the buttermilk suit, maybe it was the sleek hair, maybe just the intelligent, modulated tones. Everything about Eleanor Marshall said lady. It wasn’t a first impression he’d had of any other woman since he’d arrived in this city.

He flashed her his deepest, sexiest smile, the one he reserved for babes already hooked up with other guys. Women had told him it made them think of his lips on

theirs. And he didn’t mean the pair located under the nose. Ms Marshall returned him a steady gaze. David snapped the smile off?.

‘Tom, Eleanor, you already know my guys, Mike from Domestic and Kevin from our script department.’ Sam ignored Kevin Scott’s imperceptible shiver of distaste. He loathed his precious literary division being called the ‘script department’. As far as Kevin was concerned, Kendrick knew, scripts were a necessary evil. But they were having a meeting with Goldman and Marshal/, for God’s sake. Maybe little David was right about Kevin… ‘And let me introduce you to David Tauber, a very bright young man, who represents two of our new clients.’

‘Mike, Kevin, David.’ Tom Goldman nodded at the three of them, polite but reserved, like a king holding court. ‘Have a seat. Sam, you know we convened this meeting so Eleanor could discuss with SKI a broad framework of what we might be looking for this season…

‘… but I take it that you already have something to pitch to us,’ Eleanor continued, gesturing at David. ‘Since you’ve brought along a specific agent.’

Sam noted the way they seemed totally at ease with each other, finishing off each other’s sentences, sharing that

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chintz couch together. Not often you saw a studio chairman and president so well attuned. He didn’t like it; strong studios, weak agents.

‘Let’s hear it,’ Goldman was saying.

‘You’re right, of course.’ Kendrick shrugged charmingly, like a little boy caught stealing apples.

‘We should know you by now, Sam,’ Eleanor Marshall said, smiling at him. They had been old sparring partners from her marketing days; Sam had always wanted huge promotion guarantees for his stars, and Eleanor had always fought to keep the spend down. Eleanor had usually won.

‘Well, Sam Kendrick now represents two new stars and we want to build a ftlm around them,’ Sam said.

‘We have a number of very established actors who ‘ would be perfect in support roles. We think this could be

huge,’ Mike Campbell chimed in. ‘We’re looking at a

motion picture that will appeal to kids and their parents.’ ‘Who?’ asked Eleanor Marshall, bluntly.

‘David signed them, so I think he should do the honours,’ Sam said expansively. ‘You guys are absolutely th first to hear about this. The deal was only finalized yesterday.’

David Tauber turned his dark gaze towards Eleanor.

‘Zach Mason and ILoxana Felix,’ he said.

Tom Goldman breathed in, sharply.

‘We have a screen test for Zach,’ Sam added, patting his briefcase. ‘He can realy act. I’ll run the tape for you.’ He leant forward, looking at Eleanor, the new kid on the block. This would be the coup de grace. ‘And we have also signed a new director - Fred Florescu.’

‘Does Fred want to work with Mason?’ Eleanor demanded, u’ying not to show how excited she was.

‘He asked Sam to hook him up with Zach,’ Mike Campbell said.

Eleanor shifted on her seat. She could feel the waves coming right out of Tom’s eyes and boring into the back of

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her neck - Do a deal! Now! Quick! Bffore they show this package to anyone else!

But although he was straining at the leash, she knew he wouldn’t override her. Not in her first meeting. Tom had appointed her president, and he’d let her make her own decisions. It was one of the reasons she Liked him so much .. was that the right word?

‘Sam, we’ll need to see that test. But Zach Mason with Fred Florescu sounds very strong.’ She didn’t care about the supermodel. Not unless she could act. Most of those clotheshorses had no idea what to do once they had to open their mouths. ‘And I think we can offer you a deal. But there is one condition.’

‘Name it.’ Kendrick was still leaning towards her. ‘Zach Mason’s a superstar.., in rock ‘n’ roll. But there’s nothing to say his appeal will hold for moviegoers. It didn’t even work for Madonna. Now I know you guys have got a lot of established talent for support, but this project needs one more dement. It’s crucial. And we won’t green-light anything without it.’

Eleanor nodded at Kevin Scott, completdy certain of what she was saying.

‘We need a dynamite script. Get me that, and we’re in business.’

‘Honey, over here!’

Megan paused for a second, just a second, to catch her breath. She’d managed to get the order of three plates heaped with fried chicken, coleslaw and two pitchers of beer over to table six and set down without spilling it, even when the fat slob with acne had made a grab for her ass, cackling, and she’d had to swerve away. How could they eat mounds of fried chicken in the LA summer? Sweat beaded her forehead, making her fringe cling damply to her skin. Her thighs felt heavy and sticky, gross in the too short skirt. She’d put on twelve pounds since she started vorking here; at the end of the shift she was always too hungry and too exhausted to resist her free ‘Mr Chicken’ employee meal. Even though the mere thought of all that stale batter frying up in pools of grease made her nauseous. Jesus, she thought, when I get out of here I’m never going within ten miles of a piece of fried chicken for the rest of my life. iF i ever get out of here.

‘Honey, we need some service.’

‘I’ll be right there, guys,’ Megan called out, threading her way past the other waitresses towards table four, nearest the bar. Oh God, it was them again. The drivers. Worked for some Hollywood chauffeuring service and turned up here once a week with their seersucker suits and attitude, boasting to the other girls about what they’d said to Demi Moore last Tuesday or Tom Hanks on Friday.

‘OK, fellas, what’ll it be?’ she asked nervously..

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‘Two buckets, four ‘slaws and a pitcher,’ the scrawny one gabbled. Megan wrote furiously, trying to ignore the geek with the sideburns who was staring right up her skirt. She longed to slap him, but what could you do? It had taken her three weeks to find any kind of a gig. Even the waitressing slots were hotly contested in this town, and by wannabe actresses too, x x S-pound babes with legs that went on forever and eyelashes so long you could braid them. Overweight and over twenty-one usually meant

over and out. She had no savings. She needed this job. ‘Great. Like a piece of corn with that?’

‘No, but I’d sure like a piece of your sweet ass,’ cracked Oscar Wilde with the facial hair. His companions roared with laughter.

Megan felt the anger bubble up inside her throat, but forced it back down. ‘Not on the menu today. Sorry.’

‘Mebbe tomorrow.’ Oscar wasn’t giving up when he was on a roll. He leant forward and jabbed a grimy finger into the cellulite on Megan’s upper thigh. ‘Mebbe you’d like to drop a couple pounds. I could help ya with that. Sweat it off. Get it?’

Jesus. She felt even hotter, her clammy skin prickling with rage and humiliation. Had it come to this? Being propositioned by a bunch of slobs who were tellingher she was fat?

‘I’ll get the order,’ she.mumbled, and broke away from the table, her face the colour of the ketchup bodes.

‘Don’t mind them.’ Stacey, one of the other waitresses, put a soothing hand on her arm. Stacey was a petite redhead from Indiana who’d started two weeks before Megan; and the only girl in the place who’d given her the time of day. ‘They’re just assholes. Standard issue.’

‘Stacey, am I fat?’ She was transfixed by the sight of her friend’s slender legs, looking so cute in the itsybitsy yellow frilled uniform. And her clear skin, with no gathering pudginess under the chin. Green eyes and nea

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red hair. Stacey could even look good in canary, a colour Mr Chicken might have chosen on purpose to make its waitresses look sallow.

‘No way.’ Stacey wasn’t looking at her. ‘This society’s

all hung up on weight, anyway. It’s natural for a woman to have curves.’