Part 12 (1/2)

CHAPTER NINE.

That Wednesday afternoon, Mr. Brander and Lewis had arranged a reading of A Cup of Joe in a little theater on Melrose. It was just for the producers and me, to hear how the screenplay sounded out loud.

I'd been nervous about the development meeting the week before, but I wasn't (that) nervous about this, mostly because that first meeting had gone so well. I'd killed then, and I was almost certain I was going to kill again today.

But that was before things started to go wrong.

Traffic was horrible (and the Earth was round, and water was wet), and almost the only street parking for miles around was one or two-hour (which I knew wouldn't be enough), so I was late. When I finally found the theater, I was sweaty and out of breath.

There was a small lobby inside. The air was musty, like the furniture section in a Goodwill store. There was a table by the door covered with stacks of glossy postcards, mostly askew - advertis.e.m.e.nts for other little fringe theaters that probably only survived by casting their shows with lots of actors and then having them guilt their friends into buying tickets.

I heard voices: Mr. Brander and Lewis and Bryce conferring over by the concessions stand (four dollar Pepsis - no doubt the second big source of revenue for a little theater like this). It was strange to think of Mr. Brander being anywhere other than that old house of his. Even in his wheelchair, it felt like an ancient redwood tree had somehow pulled up its roots and wandered out of the forest.

”Yeah, but I told you this at the start,” Bryce was saying to Mr. Brander. ”I pa.s.sed up another job for this, and I had a very specific set of conditions.” He sounded upset.

”Now calm down, my boy,” Mr. Brander said. ”We can work this out. It was just a small misunderstanding.”

What's this? I thought. Some kind of argument?

Lewis intercepted me halfway across the lobby. ”You're here,” he said.

”Yeah,” I said. ”Sorry I'm late.”

”I should've warned you about the parking. There's a long-term lot, but it's hard to find.”

I was looking at Lewis, and nodding, but I was trying to hear what Bryce and Mr. Brander were saying. I couldn't make it out. I did hear Bryce say, ”jerking me around,” and I also heard Mr. Brander say, ”important to trust me.”

”Bottled water?” Lewis said, handing me one.

”Uh, sure.” I took it. ”Everything okay?” I said to Lewis, meaning Bryce and Mr. Brander.

”Yeah, that's nothing,” Lewis said, immediately turning toward the thick velvet curtain that covered the door into the theater. ”Here, let's have you join everyone else.”

Truthfully, I would have preferred to stay and eavesdrop a little longer, but I let him lead me into the theater itself (the curtain was so thick that I could no longer hear Mr. Brander and Bryce).

It was even smaller than I expected, about thirty seats total, on homemade wooden risers on either side of a central aisle. The seats looked down onto the floor of the room, which doubled as the stage. The backdrops were cheap wooden cut-outs painted to look like a living room. They hadn't even bothered to hang real art - they'd just painted pictures and frames onto the wood.

I pa.s.sed Andrea and Justin, sitting in a couple of the seats on one side.

”Oh,” I said. ”Hey.”

”Hey there!” Andrea said, grinning. ”Nervous?”

I smiled back. ”Not really,” I said, except that wasn't quite true anymore. After overhearing Bryce and Mr. Brander in the lobby, I was nervous again. Plus, it occurred to me that I'd never actually heard my screenplay out loud, something that all the screenplay websites say is a huge rookie mistake. I hadn't even read it aloud to myself when I was writing it.

Down on the ”stage,” Evan and a group of actors were milling around, arranging folding chairs, copies of my screenplay in hand. Lewis had said on the phone that the movie still hadn't been cast or anything - these were just actors who were doing Evan a favor, in hopes that the producers might see them in the role and decide, ”Yes! We must have you!” But it's not like any of them were recognizable celebrities or anything.

I was still hot after all that driving and running, so I cracked open the bottled water Lewis had given me and started drinking. I walked closer to the stage. Being actors, they were all pretty attractive, like Otto had said. It was obvious who was playing Joe and Milo, because they were the hottest actors of all. In fact, they were so hot that I was way too intimidated to talk to them. Instead, I walked up to an older women in a long scarf (a requirement, apparently, for female actors), who I a.s.sumed was playing the grandmother.

”Hey there,” I said. ”I'm Russel, the writer?”

Evan heard me and turned around. ”Hey!” He turned to the actors. ”Everyone? This is Russel, the screenwriter of A Cup of Joe.”

The actors all gathered around to tell me how much they loved my script. This included the actors playing Joe and Milo, who were even more insanely handsome close up (I approached them to shake their hands, but technically they were still unapproachable). Once again I knew all these compliments were mostly insincere hot air, and once again I was reminded how even insincere hot air is still a thousand times better than constant rejection.

After a bit, everyone else sort of turned back to their own little cl.u.s.ters, and the older woman I'd introduced myself to before said, ”I'm Kate.” It was good comic timing, like I'd talked to her, and she'd had to wait all this time before she could respond.

I laughed. ”Thanks for doing this,” I said to her. ”I really appreciate it.”

”Oh, sure. And they're right, you know. It really is a good script. I read so much s.h.i.+t. But this is special. I really hope it gets made.”

I knew she was probably sucking up to me too. Who knows? When it came to casting, maybe even the lowly screenwriter's opinion could tip the scales. But Kate's compliment did feel more sincere.

”Thanks,” I said. Overhearing that argument in the lobby had made me anxious, but talking to Kate had made me feel better again. ”So what about you? What are you working on?”

”Hmmm, I'm about to play Joseph Gordon-Levitt's mother,” she said. ”And I'm up for the queen in Disney's new live-action Little Mermaid.”

The Bulls.h.i.+t Factor, I thought. So what did that really mean? She'd merely auditioned for the Gordon-Levitt film, and The Little Mermaid wasn't a feature, but something for the Disney Channel? But I couldn't hold it against her. Otto had said everyone did it, that it was expected.

From behind us in the theater, I heard Mr. Brander say, ”Okay, everyone, let's get started, shall we?”

He and Lewis had entered, but Bryce was right behind him, his fists clenched. ”I'll walk!” he said to Mr. Brander. ”I'm serious! This is bulls.h.i.+t and you know it. I'll walk out of this theater right now, and I won't be back.”

With a spine as straight as the redwood tree I mentioned earlier, Mr. Brander stared straight ahead. ”By all means, do what you have to do.”

As Bryce stood there staring daggers down at Mr. Brander's wheelchair, an awkward silence descended on the room. I saw Andrea and Justin glance at each other, the way people do when they're quietly mortified by right-wing grandparents. Lewis looked at his shoes.

Not in front of the actors, I thought, as if they were children.

Finally, Bryce laughed. ”You're crazy,” he said. ”You're a crazy old man! This is such bulls.h.i.+t. Okay, I'm gone!”

It took more than one try for Bryce to find the actual opening in the velvet curtain behind him, but then he fumbled his way through and disappeared.

Mr. Brander rolled forward down the aisle. Out in the lobby, the door slammed loud enough to be heard even through the curtain.

What in the world was that about? I thought. Was Bryce gone for good, and if so, what did it mean for our movie? But I wasn't about to ask. I didn't even move a muscle for fear that Mr. Brander would notice me and make a big deal about my presence like he usually did. Instead, he started to direct the actors on who should sit where.

”Okay, where's Joe?” Mr. Brander said.

”Ross?” Evan said, and one of the actors stepped forward.

”What?” Mr. Brander said.

”I'm Joe,” the actor said.

”Who's Ross?” Mr. Brander said.