Chapter 2

Neither Sandra nor Becky joined me in the limo for the relatively short trip to the production meeting, where I would formally sign the option rights contract, or so they all hoped. Fred was with me though and we shared a short private conference, the jist was that if any of Becky's proposed script changes were accepted that I would willingly walk away from the entire film project, and refuse to sign. Fred knows that I'm generally a pretty reasonable sort of fellow, and at least as mercenary and 'out for the money' as anyone in the literary business, but I couldn't stand the thought of my old girlfriend Becky being the one this time to ruin my life's work.

Losing out on 1.2 million in film rights wasn't really that much of a disaster. I'd sold these options three times before in the past, albeit for lesser amounts, and Fred would find another buyer, in another month or two. The property was hot and other studios had been showing regular interest, also waiting for the prior existing option to expire to make their own bids. Lampadaire Productions was more efficient and prepared than most of their competition and had struck first, but Fred assured me that if I really needed to walk away from the project that he could find another buyer within the next few months, probably somewhere in the $800-900k range, which was more than acceptable.

I'd been well paid during my career of working for both Mr. DeLuca and Cameron O'Neil. Even without my book sales, domestic and overseas, I'd be living pretty well in any manner of comfort that I could choose. Having money was nice ... but Lionel Hopkins was my alter-ego, a man like me who had trusted a woman once and it had nearly destroyed him. He'd found true love too, in time, but lost the love of his life later in a hail of mob gunfire. He had at times lost everything, except for his principles, and like me, I was going to stick to my guns now too.

I had no intention now of honoring my wife's wish that I bump uglies with the former love of my life. Today, right now I would happily settle instead for my one-time ex-girlfriend not screwing up sixteen years of literary achievement by making my hardboiled detective the laughingstock film equivalent of 'Brenda Starr' or 'Battlefield Earth'. A film so god awful that it would poison the media well for any future reattempts to film the property faithfully and properly, either for the big screen or for television ... and sully my author's name as well, hurting future (and back catalog) book sales.

In truth, I wasn't sure that my hero Lionel Hopkin's had much literary life left within him anyway. The Vegas my PI tramped through on dark missions of justice didn't really exist anymore. DeLuca's famous hotel on the strip was closed now, a victim of terrorist attackers the news claimed. Even Mr. DeLuca's retirement home suffered some unexplained septic tank explosion that supposedly killed the old crime boss and his bodyguard. Vegas wasn't the same anymore and I'd been glad to leave it. I'd even begun to contemplate the unthinkable, killing off my tired world-weary hero in some final epic battle for honor and justice, to fight for the underdogs one last time.

Perhaps it was time for a new, more upbeat and modern hero, but I hadn't found my inspiration yet while being back home in Tampa. The new Lionel Hopkin's novel, perhaps my last, sits on the desk half-done, the ending far from certain. Awaiting definitive inspiration.

Maybe Owen's time had come and it was time to just collect another final payday and then turn off the lights when it is decent to do so. Let Becky perform her abomination and sink down two careers at once. Then I could give my ailing hero his final due and a long permanent rest in his final novel.

I'd already hinted as much of this notion to my literary agent and there was no particular wailing or gnashing of teeth. Sales had been declining for last several books as the novels I'd written without Maria by my side had been grimmer and darker than ever before. It was time to put the past to bed. But a new and happier hero still evaded my muse!

As Hollywood time wasting meetings go, I'd rate this one as at least a six, maybe even a seven. Frank and I were early, and as expected Becky was late, even by female standards of time management.

When she arrived, with her PA Sandra right behind her, I recognized my old girlfriend at once. In some ways she hadn't changed at all. Mostly her eyes. She on the other hand didn't recognize me at first. I was much taller and wasn't wearing geek glasses these days. I'd gone modern and had had laser eye surgery performed years ago and had never needed glasses since.

She was still jaw droppingly beautiful and just by seeing her again I was once more a moonstruck teenager. Along with all of the old longing, the hurt returned as well until I had to look away from her eyes to pretend to consult the proposed option contract. Her manner suggested that she thought that she ought to know me from somewhere but she kept her curiosity under check and right from the start she tried to control the flow of the meeting.

"My PA says that Mr. Parrino has reviewed the listing of script corrections but seems unwilling to make most, if any of the desired changes. Is this correct?" She fumed.

"Entirely so, for they are all pointless or otherwise irrelevant ones. Furthermore, as Lou here is undoubtedly aware, having done his due diligence with my agent Frank here, you might ... or not, be aware that Lou J. Parrino is my nom de plume, or literary pen name. My actual name is Edward Gregory. Yes, Rebecca, that Ed Gregory, your next door neighbor from Tampa, Florida. Isn't it a small world! Also, as a bit of friendly advice to an old, old friend, memos for script changes are much more legible if they're not written upon soiled cocktail napkins written in the early hours of the morning, and under uncertain sobriety. Just a suggestion."

Becky opened and shut her mouth a few times in complete shock but otherwise remained silent. Sandra sitting in a chair up against the wall behind her was trying hard, and mostly failing, to keep from laughing.

Lou Watson didn't get to be one of the half-dozen or so most powerful producers and studio heads in Hollywood by letting the inmates, or overly party-happy actresses run his production meetings, and he smiled and tried to take control over the proceedings.

"So I understand Mr. Gregory that you are opposed to any significant alterations to the proposed shooting screenplay, the original Searchlight one titled "A Death in Neon Yellow"? Is that basically correct?"

"More or less. My understanding was that this script, which I was a credited co-writer of, was the desired and preferred basis for the current proposed movie treatment. I had been further led to understand that you also considered this particular adaption 'preferable' yourself, and the final shooting script would require relatively few, and minor, alterations. Assuming these facts, and with a firm understanding that Becky Brighton shall have no editorial contributions or alterations to this approved screenplay, I would be willing to authorize and sign my approval for the option to this property, and my characters ... with several slight caveats that I would require in writing as part of the contract."

"That would be acceptable, depending upon the caveats."

"First, I shall accede to the alteration of the sex of the primary character, and any minor ones accordingly as needed to maintain the integrity of the script, but otherwise Ms. Brighton is to make no other suggestions or alterations of any substance to the script or the spirit of her performance of the lead character."

Becky started to argue but Lou shut her down cold with a loud and firm, "Agreed."

"Secondly, our high school twenty year class reunion is next month, the 23^rd and 24^th I believe, and the welcoming committee would very much like the attendance of a certain Rebecca Westbrooke, and me too to a much lesser extent. I thought it would be rather nice if we could attend it together. Preferably voluntarily, but I would be prepared to make this public appearance a condition."

Lou gave Becky a beady-eyed glare and really the actress had little choice but to agree, but without any enthusiasm. "I haven't received an invitation." She weakly complained.

"That's because they couldn't locate you after you had your name changed and your parents moved out of Tampa. Instead they slipped this little note inside of my invitation asking about you! It's from a Carolyn Baxter, the head of the reunion committee. You might remember her! Wasn't she the president of the drama club during your senior year? I thought the two of you were ever such close friends! On her note she asks, quote, "Have you heard from Backseat Becky? Everyone would love to see her again, especially my husband Cliff!" Unquote.

I thought that Becky would flat out fall onto the floor in a dead faint, and she might have if Sandra hadn't caught her as she started to slip out of her chair. Lou's smile was turning into a huge shit-eating grin and his own assistant was snorting with unrestrained laughter.

"The third and final condition is that I will limit the terms of this option to just eighteen months, by the end of which time actual production must have begun for this film. If for any reason the principle actress cannot continue with this production, I will extend the option for an additional one year, if a suitable male actor is cast for the lead role, and the original "A Death in Neon Yellow" screenplay is used without significant alterations."

"Quite acceptable." Lou stated and we shook hands on the deal. Frank produced a contract from his attaché case that contained an addendum with my three contract conditionals, and after a brief legal review, Lou and I signed the film rights option.

Becky stormed out of the meeting, dragging along Sandra behind her in tow, and she slammed the door behind her.

"Temperamental still, I see." I laughed to Lou. "Are the tabloids just blowing smoke or is that not quite so young women a living train wreck?"

"The divorce, the most recent one, has been trying ... and yes, if anything the tabloids, particularly the National Enquirer and the Hollywood Tattler have been going easy on her. The studio, and a few of her friends, have been running a bit of interference, keeping the worst out of the press, but even her PA admits that Becky's a bit out of control. And yes, she's always been temperamental. She was that way in school too? And what's this Backseat Becky business?"

"That was her school nickname. I might have been her boyfriend once when she was a bit more innocent, but she was always badly insecure. She went into acting at school so that she could become 'popular', but nothing she did ever worked ... mostly because her old 'so-called' friend Carolyn Baxter and her clique of queen bees, turned her into the school bike, so to speak, and let just about everyone ride her. Cliff was her main boyfriend, or rather pimp for awhile in her senior year, and made sure that all of his friends got the chance to ride her a time or two before she became tedious. Worse, they have photos, rather candid ones, but fortunately no one at her school has yet connected Backseat Becky with Becky Brighton ... or else it's being saved as a very special surprise."

"You're diabolically evil!" Lou laughed. "Are you sure you wouldn't like a career as a Hollywood film studio mogul? You have all of the necessary attitude!"

"Actually, you over-estimate my sinister intentions. Really, Becky and I were close once and I'd really just like for the two of us to have a weekend together at the reunion. Kind of a poignant 'what might have been' moment for the two of us. Yes, probably those old photos are going to turn up as a result, but have your lawyers ready for them. She was just seventeen at the time they were taken, I can swear to that, and that makes them kiddie porn and completely unpublishable! Besides, by today's standards they're tame, compared with all of the other x-rated home movies your other stars are self-leaking, just for the media attention. Handled properly, and after another little quiet bit of rest at a rehab facility, Becky could get a bit of a popularity bounce, just due to sympathy. Almost every woman has an ex-boyfriend in the shadows with old nude photos of them, and this will make Cliff and his friends look like a cad, and Becky as the innocent victim. As the boy next door, I could even be called upon to make a statement on her behalf that her high school ex, not me, was abusive and that any pictures taken might also reasonably be construed as documentary evidence of rape. Now that should shut any wagging tongues!"

"That's all very true. I'll warn legal and also be ready to inform the tabloids not to touch them, if they don't want to be sued for every dime they've got. As for the third condition, that contingency has already been discussed with several senior members of my production staff. We'd prefer to continue with the project as discussed, but be aware that there are contingency plans, including recasting the lead role, if it becomes necessary."

"Good. I'm willing to give her the chance, for old times' sake, but I'd rather not see my life's work become shat upon and the film an object of derision. For starters when it's convenient, have another private meeting with Sandra and get her to show you the pharmaceutical contents of her purse. All of the stuff that Becky is taking to get going in the morning, act perky on set, mellow down for the evening and shut her down for sleep at night, or rather far too early in the morning. Sandra told me at lunch yesterday that she's one more breakdown away from pulling a Judy Garland, so try and get her at least somewhat cleaned up before principle photography starts or we'll all have a train wreck. Just my two cents."

Lou and I made arrangements to keep in contact and that I'd have a limo waiting for Becky and Sandra when they arrived in Tampa for the reunion next month. I told him that I'd let her make the decision, to appear as the famous Hollywood actress Becky Brighton, or else she could reappear anonymously as Rebecca Westbrooke, with a fictional and more mundane career. The choice was hers.

Naturally, craving the fame and popularity at school that had eluded her, it was Becky Brighton who appeared in all her fatuous tinsel town glory at the airport in Tampa, and I could tell nearly right from the start that the entire reunion weekend was soon about to become a complete nightmare for her! And nearly all of her own making!

For starters, Becky hardly arrived in the best of either condition or mood. The flight out of LA was an early one so that with the time zone changes going east her flight would arrive here in the early afternoon. The actress had been out partying the night before and involved in a minor altercation with a parking attendant, who claimed according to TMZ, that the actress to was too intoxicated to drive and he initially refused to give her the car keys and instead he offered to call her a taxi, whereupon she allegedly struck him and took back the keys physically and drove off. No police had been called and no charges had been filed, but the tabloids were going to have fun with the story anyway.

Unfortunately, Sandra's stash of Becky's routine medications seemed as bulky as ever too. Unable to sleep on the plane, even in first-class, Becky wanted nothing more than a hotel bed to nap for a few hours until the welcoming Friday night reception at a local night club that had been reserved exclusively for the reunion party.

Becky dry swallowed down three white capsules and was promptly parked down in her suite for a long nap. Sandra and I took the opportunity for a long intimate luncheon in the perfectly adequate hotel restaurant downstairs.

"This trip is on Lou's dime!" She laughed. "So how is the lobster here! I never eat this way at home. I can cook pretty decently, but Becky hardly ever eats it, so she usually orders take-out and has it delivered. That's when she's not on a liquid diet, like she's been on lately. Lou has ordered her into rehab before shooting starts in two months and he made me clean out my handbag of all of her little friends, uppers and downers. She's been promising to go back into rehab for weeks, but she won't give me an actual firm date to schedule! Lou ordered the studio docs to cancel her prescriptions, but then yesterday she went to a local Doc Feelgood and got an all new handful of scripts, including some new stuff I've never seen her take before. Pain killers and mood stabilizers, I think. God knows how it's all going to mix with booze! I had to sleep in her room last night because I was afraid she'd vomit in her sleep and choke on it, if I wasn't there to watch over her! We almost missed our flight and I didn't get a wink on the plane either, so with your very kind permission, I'll take a bit of a nap myself after eating."

Sandra did look tired, so I postponed our plans to drive by the childhood homes, where Becky had once lived and where I still lived next door. I wanted to show her my still half completed 'final' Lionel Hopkins novel that I'd been unable to finish or even make much progress upon. I also wanted to hold her tenderly and take her hand and guide her to my bedroom, the same bedroom I had lived in as a boy, and then undress her slowly and make love to her there. Perhaps I would then pretend that I was a teenager all over again but this time it was me making love to Rebecca, instead of memories of images and voices of other boys screwing Backseat Becky instead.

Perhaps instead it would be just like lovemaking as it was with Maria, now gone from me forever. Tender and sweet, an afternoon of kisses and naked caresses, holding each other in bed for hours, long after the frenzies of copulation were a fading memory.

But what I wished for more than anything, was that Sandra and I could instead create an encounter that was entirely new and all our own. Something different, better, sweeter even than what old memories could provide with me with. Something special all of our own making.

I wanted to tell her this over a brief dessert, but her weariness was unmistakable now, and with the greatest reluctance, I let go of her hand at her hotel room door and let her, for the moment, escape from me. Sandra gave me a brief kiss on the cheek and closed the door behind her, without inviting me inside.

Returning to the downstairs restaurant I indulged in another cup of coffee and then a nearly unlimited number of further refills until my kidneys began to leak up to my eyeballs. I'd drain them, and then indulge in another fresh pot of coffee. I just couldn't go home, to sit and brood and be trapped by my old memories there. It would still be waiting for me, my manuscript, and Lionel was waiting there in those pages patiently for me to determine his final fate. A destiny for which I had not the faintest glimmer of a clue.

My own destiny was making equally similar demands of me, and with little greater resolution. Despite the years, I was still as much as ever attracted to my former neighbor, enough to reconsider my vow to my ex-wife to attempt to bed my old love. Except that I also had similar growing romantic feelings for her assistant Sandra. I doubted that I could manage to snare the both of them!