The Movie (15 page)

your eyes out as look at you.

Her dialogue was wooden, but her body language was eloquent.

‘I am ashamed that women are so simple

To offer war when they should kneel for peace;

Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,

When they are bound to serve, love and obey.’

Unbelievable. Sam felt himself getting hard. Beauififul women were usually cold narcissists, one more LA clich that was totally true. But loxana Felix was obviously nothing like that.

He wondered if she’d ever been fucked the way she deserved. He doubted it. Most guys would be utterly terrified by a woman as gorgeous as loxana, would just thrust in,nd out a few times before they came. Performance anxiety. Yeah, well, not him. He’d show her exactly what that flat little stomach could give her as well as him, how much he could get those perfect thighs to tremble, what happened to those plump, pointy nipples when they were sucked and stroked properly. Yeah, he’d like to have her underneath him, thrashing about in orgasm, all ready to fake it again and then suddenly realizing what was happening, tensing underneath him as her pussy started to get tight, but he wouldn’t stop, he wouldn’t break pace, he’d ride her like a thoroughbred filly, until she was incoherent, scratching at him and biting his shoulder, wet with her own sweat, and just at-that moment he’d slip his right hand in between her legs, just above where his cock was, and rub her lightly so he’d be pressing on the clitoris above and below. He’d show her that he was a powerful man and powerful men had beautiful women all the time, that they were just a perk of his job like any other, and he wasn’t afraid of her, he was going to enjoy her; in fact, he was going to fuck her ambitious little brains out.

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And she’d love it. And she’d come for him, she’d come screaming.

As the tape ran to an end, Sam moved a copy of Variety onto his lap to hide his arousal. No need to get locker room with Mike at a time like this.

On screen, 1koxana’s jet-black eyes, frozen in digital perfection, seemed to look right through him, as though the woman herself was up there, mocking, teasing him, calling to a part of himself that had seemed long dead, laid out cold in the headlong rush for glory.

For a second, Samuel Kendrick wondered uneasily if he had finally met his match.

David Tauber punched the redial button on his mobile phone, the other hand resting lightly on the wheel as he bombed down Sunset. Engaged again. Shit, he was making a habit of this - first Kevin Scott, and now some five-and dime restaurant. What was the point of living in the Age of Technology, of being a suffer on the Information Superhighway, if you could never get through because people were always using the goddamn phone? Well, if you need something done, do it yourself. As he’d snidely said to Kevin Scott when Artemis finally came through with their draft screenplay approval.

He, David Ariel Tauber, the next Mike Ovitz, was pleased with little Megan Silver. Pleased with her for turning up in Kevin’s oce, pleased with her for writing such a kick-ass first draft script, not that it wouldn’t need a load of work, and pleased with her for obviously not knowing the first thing about the movie business. And for being violently attracted to him. She was nothing to look at herself, but at least she had taste. And it was kind of sweet, watching her blush when he’d caught her staring at him. Sweet was not an adjective often applied to LA screenwriters; it might be fun, working with Megan, showing her a thing or two. She was close to his perfect client:

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talented, naive and desperate. Which was why, having failed all day to get through to the two-bit joint she was working in, David was doing her the honour of turning up to tell her the good news in person.

And shit, the girl must have been psychic. Not only was her little movie absolutely tailor-made for Zach Mason the guy would practically be playing himself-but she’d also written in a hefty female lead for the musician’s girlfriend, who was, check it out, a supermodel. IfP,.oxana had looked dicey for a female lead before - and he didn’t know what Sam’s reactions had been to her test - surely this part would at least double her chances. The PP,. blitz would help as well. In fact, sometimes he got the feeling that P,.oxana didn’t even need his help. This he didn’t like. Who needed to feellike an accessory? Who needed a client who knew what they were doing and, worse still, knew what he should be doing? l

Yeah. Megan Silver didn’t look like a sorceress, but maybe that’s just what she was - waved her magic wand and made all David’s problems gb away. Which is why he was running red lights on the Boulevard at ten to nine, going to pick her up himselŁ.

She deserved it..

Fifteen minutes. That was all she had to keep telling herself. Fifteen minutes, and then she could get out of here.

Megan kept herself busy. It wasn’t difficult; what with the men all screaming for beer, and new heaps of greasy chicken and grey frozen fries being shovelled into pans a foot deep in spitting oil, and buckets of indifferent-looking ‘slaw hefted round the kitchen, she hardly had time to even glance at the clock. She tried not to. If Jenkins saw her, he’d say she was slacking and dock her pay.

‘Five minutes, sugar,’ Stacey muttered in her ear,

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sweeping past with a basket of com. She dumped k unceremoniously on the front of table twelve and came back into the kitchen, her pretty face alive with excitement. ‘Look at this, Meg! The most incredible car just pulled into the parking lot.’

Megan, like most of the other waitresses, craned her

neck for a quick look.

‘Man or woman?’

‘It’s a man,’ Megan said, watching a figure in an expensive-looking grey suit step out of a stunning cherry red sports car. ‘Maybe you’ll get lucky, Stacey.’ She dusted her hands on her canary Mr Chicken frilly skirt. Nine p.m. exactly. “Well, thank you, God. ‘I’m going to get paid.’

Utterly exhausted, she walked over to the little cash

‘ counter where Jenkins was sitting.

‘So we’ll see you Monday,’ he said sourly.

Megan didn’t have a decision to make. She’d been thinking about what Stacey had said all night and she knew she was right. It was OK to be a waitress at seventeen; twenty-four, and you had serious problems.

“No, I don’t think so. I quit.’ She tried to give him a smile. That’s it, Megan, kiss ass like the corporate little chicky you are. ‘Thanks for the tryout, Bob, but I just don’t think it’s worked out.’

His eyes had a mean glint to them. She could see it even through the clouds of steam fogging up the kitchen. ‘You can’t do that.’

Megan shrugged. ‘I gotta go home.’ ‘Shoulda checked your contract.’ ‘My contract?’ Megan asked, mystified. ‘You signed it when you got hired.’

That little scrap of paper? That was a contract?

She tried humility. ‘Look, I’m really sorry if this is any bother for you, but ‘

‘You need to give me a month’s notice. If you ain’t giving notice, you ain’t getting paid for the week.’.

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Despite the heat, Megan went pale. ‘You must be kidding, Bob. You can hire anybody, you don’t want to make me stay a month. I’m a lousy waitress. You said so yourselŁ’

‘You’re not that bad.’ He was eyeing her speculatively, greedily.

My God, Megan thought, suddenly realizing what this little charade was all about. He doesn’t want me to stay, he wants me to get so mad I’ll just storm out and he won’t have to pay me for the week. Guess he doesn’t realize how badly I need that cheque.

‘OK.’ She stared back. ‘If it’s what you want. Consider

this a month’s notice. I’ll put it in writing, if you like.’ ‘You sure?’

She was right. Now he was mad. God, he must have been sure she’d burst into tears and run off.

‘Yeah;Bob, I’m totally sure. You owe me a week’s pay

and I’m not leaving without it.’

‘Why, you -‘

‘Megan.’ Stacey, blushing red to her roots, had come over to interrupt them. ‘Bob, I’m sorry, but we need Megan right now. There’s a guy out here asking for her

personally. Won’t talk to anyone else.’

Dec? thought Megan wildly.

‘You know the rules, Megan. No personal visitors,’ Jenkins said nastily. Tm.coming with you.’

‘Jesus, Bob. I finished my shift. I can see a visitor.’

He rounded on her. ‘Not on Mr Chicken premises you don’t. This is where you work, not where you get to hang with your friends. Assuming you want to stay working here.’

‘Megan?’

The three of them spun round at the strange voice to see a tall, blond man in a Yohji Yamamoto black wool suit standing at the entrance to the kitchen. He had a gold watch on his fight wrist and was carrying a briefcase in soft

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pigskin leather. He reeked of money and confidence, absolutely aware of the sensation he was causing in a dump like this. Enjoying it, too. Stacey could hardly take her eyes off:him.

Megan couldn’t breathe.

‘Who the fuck is this?’ Jenkins demanded, recovering himself. ‘Look, mister, she isn’t allowed visitors here. Not

if she wants to keep the job.’ ‘She doesn’t.’ ‘And who says so?’

‘My name is David Tauber, Sam Kendrick International,’ David said, giving Megan his most brilliant, luminous smile. Tm Ms Silver’s agent. Isn’t that right, Megan?’

Megan felt faint, almost dizzy with joy. Eventually, ‘realizing that Jenkins was staring at her with a glare that

could strip paint, she found her voice.

‘That’s right, David,’ she said. She turned round to Jenkins, suddenly unable to keep a huge grin off:her face. ‘Hey, Bob. You know what, you’re absolutely right. You can keep that pay cheque, because I quit. Right now. And I’R tell you something else.’

She leant forward, right in his acne-pitted face. ‘It’s worth every cent, just to see the look on your face.’

‘Ms Silver, shall we go? I’ve got the Lamborghini waiting outside for you.’

David Tauber stood there in the door frame, handsome as Adonis, offering her his arm. And Mr Chicken frilly uniform and all, Megan took it like a queen.

‘Why not?’ she said.

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The script felt good in her hands. That was a strange thing to notice, but Eleanor couldn’t help thinking about it as she walked into her office and hefted it out of her briefcase. The physical weight of the paper, the n.eatness of the edges, all the telltale signs that let her know it had been handled by so few people. She had a tiny thrill of electricity just picking it up.

That same electricity had been with her ever since she pulled out of the garage this morning, sending the blood tingling round her veins, giving her the feeling of wanting to get into the office, to start the day, to make this deal work. One of those mornings that reminded her why she’d

longed to work in this business in the first place. Excitement.

See the Lights was good, she could feel it, she could sense it in her bones. From the moment that slimy little jerk Tauber over at SKI had messengered it across with that pretentious note about ‘the next Close Encounters’ and ‘Pretty Woman meets The Doors’ she’d been convinced. And God knew she hadn’t picked it up with any expectations - after all, nobody had h4ard of Megan Silver, whoever she was, and it hadn’t even come from Sam’s script department. If she hadn’t wanted the deal to work so badly, she might have refused to look at it, might have passed it down the food chain to one of Artemis’s ‘readers’, the amoebae at the bottom who normally accepted screenplay submissions. She’d have liked nothing better

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than to snub David Tauber. He was a two-bit hustler barely out of diapers, the type who expected all women to fall at his.feet with their legs open just because he had a cute smile and a tan. She was used to guys like Tauber. Probably worked out in a gym with mirrored walls.

Still, there was no way she could have refused to look at

the script. Jerk though Tauber was, he was also the classic model of the Hollywood corner. Breaking onto the scene from nowhere with Colleen McCallum, and now Zach Mason as well as the model. Heavy-duty clients eventually turn the most featherweight agent into Mike Tyson. So she’d started reading it at nine a.m. that morning, intending to skim it in ten minutes.

She’d finished it at quarter of ten and called Sam Kendrick immediately.

See the Lights. An incredible love story. An action thriller plot. A backdrop of sex and drugs and rock ‘n’ roll.

It was going to make her name, and she’d come into Artemis this morning with the intention - oh God, God, this was so great, and so terrifying - of green-lighting her first movie.

‘You look happy.’

‘Hi, Tom,’ Eleanor said, looking up to see her boss standing in the doorway of her oce. He was wearing some nondescript black suit that made his brown hair look darker but did nothing for the slight jowliness of middle age that had settled around his chin. He moved like a man long accustomed to power.

She felt the familiar longing twitch between her thighs. ‘I brought breakfast,’ Tom said, striding across the room and dumping a grease-spotted paper bag down on her desk. He took out a jelly-ftlled doughnut and a paper cup of coffee and offered them to her with a grin. ‘Caffeine. tefined sugar. Saturated fat. Eat.’

‘I can’t eat that!’ Eleanor protested, laughing. ‘It’ll head straight to my thighs. Paul wants us to go on the Pritikin

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iet, that one where you eat no fat at all. He says we should hire a vegetarian low-fat cook.’

Goldman shook his head. ‘So? Jordan wants me to become a goddamned vegan.’ He leant towards her. ‘This is why people have jobs.’

‘So they can secretly eat doughnuts?’

‘Absolutely. Now eat it. That’s an order.’

Smiling, she took a large bite. It was sweet and oily and delicious.

Tom watched her with immense satisfaction, then reached into the bag for his own doughnut, polishing it off in three bites.