Chapter 23

Harry missed Peg almost as soon as she dropped him off at the airport in her Charger. He’d miss Chrissy too, and Marisol, but Peg much more. Linda wanted Harry to stay for a week, “I’ll tell you when we meet,” she’d said mysteriously, which was fine with Harry since he planned on meeting Tom’s old agent in New York anyway in about a week and a half, so why not keep travelling instead of briefly stopping at home.

Probably the best part of it, Melly agreed to let him stay at the Hacienda. Of course it should really have been Sissy’s permission, but Melly had a lot of sway. He decided that since he’d essentially stolen Marisol away, the rock star’s place wouldn’t be welcoming, besides being a bit out of the way from where he needed to be. Melly even became his chauffeur. “No one else needs me,” she said.

“William?” he asked.

“That’s done when he wanted me to replace your sister. Kind of woke Sissy up to the asshole’s expectations, you know, fucking a bisexual. No, we’re back to me fucking her silly, but Sissy’s always liked driving herself for some reason except for fancy events. So mostly I keep cars clean and lubed.”

“So I’ll be alleviating your boredom.”

“Yep.”

“Glad I could help.”

“You know I like you, Harry.”

“I like you too, Melly. If you want you could accompany me to New York. I’d like the company.”

“I’ll think about it.”

The surprise Linda promised took the form of a pile of scripts.

“Uhm, rewrites?” he asked hopefully.

“I’m your agent, remember,” she said.

“Then not rewrites.”

“Pat let me borrow dailies,” she said. “I showed them around to some studios and that’s the result. That and word of mouth from your sister and a certain hot Latina.”

“All these supposedly have roles for me?”

“That’s the point,” Linda answered impatiently.

“Am I a type or something?”

“A tall older but in shape man who can act? I imagine there would be roles available. A type? Like a convict or something? It’s more diverse than that.”

“But you plug in a con and out pours ... these.”

“I don’t understand the problem.”

“The problem is, I’m not interested.”

“You should be.”

“Tell me why?”

“You’re not getting any younger.”

“No one is,” Harry chuckled.

“There’s a much more limited time to groom you into a viable film actor, and I think, very possibly one in high demand.”

“I’m not interested. What I am interested in is developing my scripts into films, and if I happen to write myself a role, which I’m actually working on, then that’s fine.”

“What if I told you you might not get one without the other?”

“And the other shoe drops,” Harry muttered. “I knew signing my life to you was a mistake. What devil compact have I made?”

“I’m working for your benefit, Harry.”

“More yours it sounds like. You get your percentage. You and Pat latch onto my scripts. What if I say no?”

“You’re going to have a hard time selling your scripts if no one’s interested.”

“You’d blackball me just to keep me to yourself.”

“Pat and I found you.”

“Tom found me, or stole my life, literally, except I came on board for your benefit. No thanks for that. Instead I get bought. I want some wiggle room.”

“What wiggle room?”

“I want some choices.”

“You can say no to any scripts, just not all of them.”

“Thanks for that, but that’s not what I mean. You buy my script you also let me choose the actors who do the roles. I mean final choice. I sit next to Sam, who I also want to be the casting director.”

“Of course. But choice of actors...”

“It’s non-negotiable. Either that or I pull my script and hope if I get my novel published, obviously without your agent’s friend’s help, I can find someone else to buy the rights. I should do that anyway, but I respect Pat enough if I don’t respect you, even if she decides not to direct.”

“To be honest she’s not sure she wants to direct another film based in Stillwater Minnesota.”

“I guess that sort of makes sense.”

“You know what your problem is?”

“You?” Harry chuckled.

“The problem is you don’t see the real problem, about what it’s going to take to get attention to a small film about convicts. You don’t get that not only will it diminish the chance to get this great acting talent, you, seen by the widest amount of public, but to also diminish your chance to get attention for your writing. Yes, as an agent, I want to ride your success and actually develop that success, but as the producer of the film, I’d like it to be as successful as possible too, and even give credence for your next script because of you coauthoring Stillwater. Take the roles I’m offering you, some of them quite juicy. I’ve stacked them and numbered them for the soonest possible release, but I used letters to denote the juiciest. The soonest releases should take priority, but maybe after the first two, you could look at the juiciest. It’s still going to be close with our release, the possibility of it being a sleeper pretty great because of it, but,” she tapped the top script, “this one fortunately is 1a, a villain in a hit series, a two parter at that. You can thank your sister since her show’s showrunner is best friends with this one’s showrunner, a friendly rivalry containing mutual respect. Do this, and the conversation begins about you, furthered by a second one and so forth.”

“I’d still like choice of actors,” Harry insisted.

“Someone in particular?” Linda asked.

“Yes,” Harry confessed. “You remember in the script the Indian woman who is murdered?”

“Yes of course.”

“I have someone for the role.”

“Can she at least act?”

“Let me show you,” Harry said, and removed a memory stick from his jacket pocket, handing it to her. She plugged it into her computer and they watched some of the pseudo pilot, ending with the first encounter between Marisol and him.

“Did you write this?” she asked.

“A collaboration. I actually have a video of my collaborator’s one act in which she and Marisol, the Indian woman, and me perform.”

“This was pretty good for an amateur film.”

“It’s actually a pilot of sorts for a series I’d like developed.”

“About the Indian and the PI?”

“Yep.”

“Interesting. And the director?”

“A real talent,” Harry nodded. “Unfortunately he just started his senior year in high school.”

“That is unfortunate.”

“USC scouted him, and he could very well be here next year.”

“The Indian ... Marisol? Her best scene by far was that last one with you.”

“She can only get better and she’s currently taking acting at the University of Minnesota.”

“Too bad you didn’t write yourself into the whorehouse script. Maybe the murderer?”

“I envision him as fat, the way a once supposedly heroic cavalry officer would get once he becomes a successful businessman.”

“Unless he’s too vain to let himself get fat. Or I suppose you could put on some pounds.”

“The first idea sounds better,” Harry chuckled. “And being tall as I am, I would be scarier.”

“Maybe two actors?”

“You agree with me about Marisol?”

“I do think she looks the part, and she does show talent.”

“I want in on the casting.”

“With Sam there, you think that’d be a problem?”

“True,” Harry chuckled.

“You don’t hate me then?”

“Your scheming makes me uncomfortable, but you did make your case.”

“Would you read at least some of these by the time we meet tomorrow?”

“I thought it was today, thus the fancy threads,” he laughed and she did too. “I will.”

“Good, because your audition for the first one is the day after tomorrow.”

“Good to know. And the others?”

“Friday for the second. The rest haven’t gone into production yet.”

“And any conflict with the location shoot?”

“The first one no. It should be done shooting by October.”

“Isn’t that...?”

“Cutting it close? No. We’re not shooting until then. A couple reasons. We’re hoping for cold and snow while the shoot progresses, and...”

“Every scene isn’t in winter.”

“But the majority are, and as you know Pat came up to shoot with a second unit this summer in which you and your pals Merc and Joseph and Pete, the younger you were involved, albeit briefly, since Pat prefers Jonas to shoot more important scenes, which he claims he can match up with the summer shots, but making for some uncomfortable shooting, sweaty and in shirts for colder weather, but part of the later schedule is for Jonas to be there the entire time.”

“I guess that makes sense. You wouldn’t happen to have a box for these,” Harry gestured to the pile. Via intercom she contacted one of her employees, one he recognized at auditions, who brought in a file box and boxed them for him.

Almost absurdly, the young woman intern or whatever she was, though medium everything, height, weight, etc., and not frail in the least, but certainly not tall and somewhat muscular like Harry, asked, “Where would you like me to bring these?”

Harry chuckled. “I think I can take it from here.”

“See you here at 2,” Linda said.

“See you then,” Harry nodded.

Melly, parked close by, swung her car to the office building’s entrance and popped the boot. After dropping the box in and closing the boot, he got into the passenger seat. “Home, James,” he said.

“That gets old quick,” Melly smirked. “And you’re in the wrong seat for it anyway.”

“My apologies.”

She’d probably turned down some Riot Grrrl music. “You can turn it up,” he told her.

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

They rocked all the way home with loud, screaming girl punk.

“I’m going to be busy all night,” he sighed when they got home.

“Want me to bring you dinner?” she asked.

“Thanks,” he smiled. “I need to get back to that office by two.”

“Not done yet?”

“Not even started,” he sighed.

By the time they headed back the next day, Harry had consumed over half of the scripts. He thought the first one pretty good if derivative, but what police procedural isn’t? He knew none of the backstory of the main characters having never watched the show, but figured the villain didn’t need to know. If there was some kind of stylistic acting convention, he’d probably witness that reviewing some of the shows before his audition, but he figured being a bit unconventional would actually make his performance all that more memorable. Not a lot of time to figure that out, but he knew he’d figure out something by then. Harry tended not to worry about such things.

Unfortunately none of the offers, from Linda and the cocky male producer or the female literary agent projecting what might be available from publishers, satisfied him monetarily. “Can I get back to you on that?” he asked.

“But...,” Linda started.

“It’s called negotiations,” Harry reminded her. “Maybe a better offer might stimulate something better from you, maybe not. Thus me getting back to you. Don’t worry about auditions. I’ll be there tomorrow and Friday. What you said makes sense, but ultimately doesn’t affect this new material. Maybe the graphic book, but I’m hoping I can find better for that too. So ... I’ll get back to you.”

“I thought...,” the arrogant producer started.

“That I’d be a pushover, some naïve, desperate ex-con? I appreciate you supporting Stillwater, and I plan to do my part selling it for you, but you, being obviously a successful businessman must understand the concept of negotiations. This is what I’m interested in making work for me,” Harry tapped the pile of manuscripts. “I’ve signed on with Linda, for better or worse, as an actor, and she’s done more than yeoman’s work on that for me, but as a writer I was hoping for better. Whether I can get better, I guess we’ll see, but for now ... I’ll get back to you.”

He walked out.

Later that day he called Sam. They’d traded emails as their means of keeping in contact and sharing each other’s news, but it had been nearly a month since last trade.

“I’m in town,” he told her.

“How long?” she asked.

“Until the end of the week.”

“Friday? Because I have a gig.”

“That’s great! I’ll be heading out early Saturday, so yes. Any chance I can buy you dinner before that?”

“Probably not.”

“Your man still jealous?”

“Your idea worked. He’s a much better lover and has been working out with me, but...”

“You told him why you expected better cunnilingus from him.”

“I told him what you told me and that you’d been my lover but ... Even though I reminded him we’d been at your fucking wedding...”

“He still thinks I’d steal you away.”

“Even for a night, and he’s not exactly wrong about me at least thinking about that if you’re like sitting their across from me at dinner.”

“Thinking and acting are two different things. Maybe if I brought a date?”

“You’re with someone?”

“Just a friend. No sex involved since she’s devoutly lesbian. If you want it more realistic I suppose I could hire an escort.”

“You needing an escort doesn’t sound like you,” she laughed.

“I haven’t had time nor luck nor inclination to bump into a new lover by chance as you seemed to think I tend to do.”

“For good reason,” she giggled.

“I suppose. Though I’d like to buy you dinner, it doesn’t sound like a good idea. Where and when’s your show?”

She told him and he promised to be there.

He tried calling Yolanda and wasn’t surprised it went to voicemail. He let her know he’d be in town until Friday night and about Sam’s show. Then he began studying his part. Melly, a fan of the show, let him watch some of it, and commented on the various characters. They did have a subdued, ultrarealistic acting style with the occasional histrionics at least once an episode. He could do that.

Yolanda called a couple hours later.

“Where are you?” Harry of course asked.

“LA, but just overnight. An early flight and then Houston for a couple days off. I wished you called earlier.”

“I wish I knew I’d be here as long as I am. You want me to come by? You’re staying at a hotel I presume.”

“I’m pretty beat.”

“I understand.”

“I could make that show Friday, maybe meet you there?”

“You won’t be heading towards New Zealand?”

“Domestic flights next weekend. Well, Vancouver, but ... I’ve been getting burned out on those long Pacific flights and decided to be asked to be switched to more northern climes. Of course my friend thought I was crazy...”

“Winter.”

“Yeah, but it made it easier to let a less veteran attendant get a chance. Made her a happy camper I imagine.”

“So you’ll be...”

“Minneapolis St Paul International, yep. Could be my final destination before my days off if you want.”

“No boyfriend?”

“Not even close. I’ve been hooking up with my ex because he always was a good fuck, just with no more illusions it would be more than that.”

“I may end being here in LA more than I want. In fact there’s a good chance I’ll be here all next month.”

“Just let me know. I suppose I’d have you exclusively then. Sam still with her boyfriend?”

“Yep.”

“And Marisol was heading to Minneapolis.”

“Just started school there.”

“I wish I wasn’t so beat.”

“Truth be told, there’s work I’m doing tonight, but I’d have set it aside for you.”

“Thanks for that. Friday then.”

“Friday.”

Melly drove Harry around to shop for an outfit for the villain before the audition. The description had the psycho killer dressed in a sort of funky elegance, and Harry found a frilly tuxedo shirt and a dinner jacket with a velvet lapel, lucky to find his size. He didn’t press his luck with the pants and went with his own black jeans, but did finish it with a pair of garish, overpriced basketball shoes.

He did manage to memorize the evil villain speech and had read over the dialog they chose a couple times. How impressive he might have been he didn’t care, but they did want him to wait around for him to read with three women, Trilbys to his Svengali, so that was a good sign. One of them, a statuesque buxom dark brunette with deep blue eyes and a beautiful and subtly expressive face he seemed to click with especially, and she must have felt it too, because when he finished up, she waited for him.

“That really went well,” she said.

“I thought so too,” he agreed. “You free by any chance?”

She laughed. “Loaded question. Free for what?”

“Dinner? Beyond that’s up to you. I have a car, with a driver in fact.”

“I’ve got a car too, but I guess it’s safe enough.”

“We could meet somewhere.”

“A chauffeur sounds more fun.”

“She is,” Harry chuckled. “Let me let her know I’m done.”

Melly smirked, seeing Harry with yet another woman, for whom she opened the door. Harry climbed into the other side.

Once Melly settled into the driver’s seat, she muttered, “You really got to let me do my job, Harry.”

“I’m perfectly capable of opening my own door.”

“You open it for women but can’t handle a woman opening it for you.”

“Got me there, Melly. This is Jenny by the way.”

“Beautiful car,” Jenny commented.

“My mistress has beautiful taste,” Melly replied as usual. “Prince okay?”

“She means Prince the musician,” Harry explained. “Otherwise it’s female punk rock bands.”

“Hey, I do heavy metal too,” Melly complained.

“Prince is fine,” Jenny laughed.

Melly had the stereo play the Sign of the Times album, with, as usual, diminished volume. “Where to?”

“What are you hungry for?” Harry asked Jenny.

“Whatever you like?”

“Melly?”

“Ecuadorian?” Melly suggested.

“Sounds interesting,” Jenny said.

“You’ll like it,” Melly returned. “It’s a favorite.”

“You’ll join us then?” Jenny asked.

“Melly’s much more interesting than me,” Harry chuckled. “And it’s not some employee thing. She’s a friend.”

“Harry couldn’t afford me,” Melly smirked. “This friend thing, he thinks being seen with a lesbian is cool in Hollywood, not realizing everyone will think he’s gay too.”

“Are you gay?” Jenny asked.

“Not even a little,” Melly laughed. “You swing both ways perchance?”

“Uhm...”

“You don’t have to answer,” Harry insisted. “I mean we clicked in the audition, but really we can just have dinner, and...”

“No!” Jenny shouted. “Shit. Sorry.”

“You want me to turn around?” Melly asked.

“Just give me a minute and I’ll explain.”

“So still going to the restaurant?”

“Yes please.”

Harry waited the minute it took for Jenny to calm down. “That scene we did,” she started. “It was a bit close to home.”

“You mean the dominant submissive thing,” Harry asked.

“Yep. Let me tell my whole sordid story.”

“Only if you want.”

“I do. You know the whole casting couch thing?”

“All too well,” Harry tensed.

“Yeah,” Melly growled.

“Imagine it with a woman who did nude modelling, who then did pornography with an S and M bent. You know what a switch is?”

“Like playing both roles?” Harry asked.

“Yep. Dominatrix sometimes and slave other times. And I just wanted a chance to act in movies, you know Hollywood movies, like a million other starlets. But a girl’s got to eat, and, to be frank, I have the body for nudes, but how much market is there for that? Especially with everything on the internet, no more Playboy or Penthouse centerfolds. I actually started out doing swimsuit and lingerie modeling until one of my fellow models told me I could make more being nude and then there was this Betty Page thing, so S & M was like a thing and I guess I was pretty convincing so I get the same bit, making more money in porno, and again it wasn’t fucking right away, more like woman on woman, you know, and yes I am bisexual so I guess I could be pretty convincing. And then, of course, cocks came into play. More money. Except...” she teared up. “I did one, got fucked by some stunt cock, and I could never do that again. You see I’d always drawn a line. I’d never become a whore, and I might as well have crossed it, you know?

“So like during all this I kept auditioning, you know, for legitimate roles. And I’d get bit parts, more background really like when the scene’s in some strip club like so many movies like to do. And yes, I’ve done some stripping, but it always made me uncomfortable being gazed at like meat by a bunch of horny men, many too old fat and ugly to get any woman close unless he paid for her to dance on his lap. I suppose the same men gazed at me on their monitors, but I didn’t have to see them face to face. But anyway, sometimes I’d get a line or two, like I was some gangster’s chippy or like the sexy bartender or something. So there’s jobs, but bits and spurts so to speak.

“Anyway so there’s like this bigwig producer who gets this hard-on for me literally, sees my S&M shit, cause that’s like his thing, and gets a hold of me and promises bigger and better roles if I let him tie me down and fuck me, the caveat being of course if I don’t I’ll never work in this town again, at least as far as legitimate shit.

“Then he like shops me around: you want a role, fuck him. Or her. The showrunner...”

“Fuck I hate this town,” Harry growled.

“Me too,” Melly muttered. “That part at least. And at least I love my mistress.”

“To be honest, he’s the easiest I ever dealt with. Likes to be slapped around and humiliated. Ended up sucking me and didn’t even fuck me. So I guess I’m a whore now.”

“I doubt it makes a difference,” Harry told her, “but my wife used to be a whore and our girlfriend still is, kind of what you do but a lot more accepting.”