by Max Barry
“No.”
I blink. “Why not?”
“Because we did know about the premiere.”
I’m speechless. “I didn’t know about it! 6, what the—”
6’s voice is perfectly level. “After I got off the phone to Event Marketing, I called Pam. I had her go through my In tray, voice mail, drawers, everything. She finally found it in my e-mail.”
“What? Found what?”
“A copy of the message we sent to Sneaky Pete. Confirming a previous meeting with him that ended in a joint decision to move the date of the premiere forward.”
“6! I didn’t—”
She sighs down the line. “E-mails can be faked, Scat. They’re just electronic. @ probably just sat down in our office and wrote it.”
I’m reeling. “But this is—it’s—”
“It’s business.”
“No, wait. He can’t prove we wrote that e-mail. It’ll be our word against his.”
“This isn’t a court of law, Scat,” 6 says, irritated. “Everything in business comes down to somebody’s word. And he’s VP Marketing. He’ll say we’re lying because we screwed up and now can’t meet the deadline.”
I hate to say this, because it’s so obvious it can’t be right. “But that’s not true. None of this is true.”
“Whatever,” 6 says. “Look, Scat, we are deep in this thing. It’s a bomb that goes off as soon as we start shouting about it. The second Jamieson finds out there’s a problem, we’ve lost this. Do you understand?”
“So what can we do? Actually try to finish this by Saturday? You know we can’t do that.”
“We have to. If we don’t, he wins.”
“Hey, wait a minute. 6, we can’t do it. We just can’t. Let’s try and work out some compromise, okay? Maybe we can postpone the premiere or—”
“Scat, Spielberg is attending. This thing is booked. Come Saturday night it will be like the Academy Awards at Mann’s Chinese Theatre, and we have to show them something.” I hear Kline shouting something about Winona’s extra teeth in the background and 6 says, “Scat, I have to go. I’ll meet you home around nine and we’ll talk. Got it?”
“Got it,” I say, but 6 has already killed the call.
scat gets serious
At Synergy I change into jeans and a T-shirt, fix a snack out of scraps from 6’s fridge and start work. I find a notepad in 6’s desk and cover the first three pages with all the things I need to do between now and Saturday. I come up with thirty-two tasks, which sends me into a panic, so then I concentrate on condensing them into broader categories. By the time 6 arrives home, I have a much smaller list, and even though each item is a major challenge in itself, at least I can start to comprehend what needs to be done.
the deceptively short list
1. Film
2. Edit
3. Present
6 gets serious
“Good,” 6 says, shrugging off her jacket. She studies my notes critically. “Shows focus.”
“Aw,” I say modestly.
“I’ve done some planning, too,” she says, and from her giant black folder she pulls another notepad. She flicks quickly through twenty or thirty densely covered pages, then stops at one labeled PANIC PLAN. “Kline said the changes would take three weeks to film. Obviously we don’t have that anymore. I just talked him down to four days.”
“So we finish shooting on Friday—the day before the premiere? What about post-production?”
“Scat, if we can get the filming done in four days, it’s a miracle,” 6 says shortly. “This is as good as it gets.”
“Oh,” I say. “Well, in that case, fine.”
“We’ll send the rushes to post-production every day, so they can work on it simultaneously. And they’ll work continuously from Friday until it’s finished on Saturday.”
“They’ve agreed to this?” I ask, surprised.
“No,” 6 says. “You’re going to talk them into it.”
“Ah,” I say. I scribble this down on my pad. When I look up, 6 is studying me. “What?”
“Scat,” she says carefully, “I want you to realize what we’re getting into. So you don’t freak out later.”
“I understand what we’re doing. We’re trying to finish a movie. I don’t know if we can actually do it, but I understand that we have to try.”
6 eyes me for a moment, then says carefully, “On Saturday night, we’re going to stand in front of some of the most powerful men and women in Hollywood, and we’re either going to show them the best piece of marketing cinema they’ve ever seen, or we’re going to apologize to them for having nothing to show. Do you get that?”
I think about this for a moment, just to make sure I really do. “It would be pretty embarrassing if we had nothing to show.”
“It would be a humiliation,” 6 says. “We wouldn’t work in this country again.”
6 confronts her true feelings
Lying in bed, waiting for 6, I actually start to feel excited. I know I’m deeply, deeply enmeshed in Sneaky Pete’s trap, but nevertheless it’s exhilarating to be in there with 6.
When she slips under the covers, I give her a little grin. It’s meant to be kind of encouraging, but I guess I didn’t really think about what a young man in pajamas grinning at a young woman from bed actually looks like, and 6’s eyes widen alarmingly. “No, hey,” I say quickly. “Sorry. I’m just a little worked up.”
“Save it for tomorrow,” she says, turning her back to me. “You’ll need it.”
“Right.” I pause. Weighing my chances. Evaluating the odds. “I love you,” I say hopefully.
“Night,” 6 says, and flicks off her Barbie lamp.
I lie there in darkness for a while, maybe five minutes, thinking about 6. I should just roll over and go to sleep, I know. But I don’t. “You still awake?”
A long sigh.
“Look, I was just thinking,” I say. “I’ve told you I’m in love with you a few times now, right?”
Silence.
“Well, I have. And, you know, I don’t want to put any pressure on you. If you’re not ready to, well, commit in the same way, that’s okay. Right?”
Still no reply. I suddenly get a little paranoid that maybe 6 really is still asleep and I’m pouring my heart out to her pillow, so I give her a hesitant little poke.
“What? ”
“Sorry,” I whisper. “Just checking.”
“Scat,” 6 says wearily. “What’s your point?”
“It’s just that, well, you know how I feel about you, right? But I don’t know how you feel about me.”
Silence from 6’s back. I resist the urge to poke her again.
“I mean, do you feel anything?” I say, a little strained.
6 sighs. “Scat ...”
“Well?” I say, a bit more aggressively than I mean to. “Do I mean something to you? Or am I just some naive moron you’re using to get what you want?”
“I ...” 6 says, then stops. She sounds as if she’s really reaching for words, so I force myself to wait for her. “Scat ...”
“Yes?”
“You are—” She takes a breath. Then she abruptly rolls over so that she’s looking straight at me. It’s night, we’re in bed together, and we’re sustaining eye contact. It’s possibly the most intimate moment we’ve ever shared. “Scat,” 6 says tenderly, “you’re more than a naive moron to me.”
the shakes
Tuesday starts well. We’re both up and dressed by five, on the lot by six. Of course, there’s nothing we can do until everyone arrives, but 6 is adamant that we need to make the right impression. We’re depending on a lot of people to throw themselves behind this project, and 6 wants our commitment to set an example.
The first assistant director arrives at seven, and 6 immediately snares her into conversation. I hang around until the rest of the crew begin arriving on set, and then I go around and meet them one by one. Most of them are wary about talking to me, just like I’d be in their positi
on, so I have to work pretty hard to get them talking about their roles and their opinions. I listen carefully and tell them honestly about the deadline and what that means in terms of the work required, but everyone surprises me with their enthusiasm for the film. By the time Kline starts things moving around eight, I’m actually feeling pretty positive.
Tina turns up at ten, hugely excited about being here but trying not to show it. I’m showing her around the set when 6 catches my arm. “Cindy’s not here.”
I blink. “Not ... ?”
“Find her,” 6 says.
starlet
The phone rings maybe twenty times before Cindy picks it up. “Hello?” Her voice is low and shaky.
“Cindy? It’s Scat.”
“Oh, hi Scat.” A sigh turns into a cough. “What time is it?”
“Time for you to get your butt down here. You should have been in makeup two hours ago.”
Cindy breathes into the phone for a bit. “Oh, Scat, I had such a wild time last night. There was this party, and I swear, everyone there was from the industry. You won’t believe who I got talking to—”
“That’s sweet, Cindy, but we need you here. Now.”
“Well I’m not feeling so good,” she says, turning petulant. “Maybe I can’t make it in today.” She softens, maybe seeking sympathy. “I only got home, like, two hours ago, and—”
“Look, I don’t care,” I say, exasperated. “Whatever you’ve done, however you feel, I really don’t care. Right now I care about this film, and I care that there is an aircraft hangar full of people standing around waiting for you. Understand?”
“Don’t talk to me like that,” Cindy says sulkily.
I open my mouth, then shut it with great effort. Everything I want to say will guarantee that Cindy doesn’t show up today. Instead I silently grind my teeth and wait.
“Can’t you shoot without me today?”
“No,” I say shortly.
A long sigh. Again, I force myself to wait it out. “Okay,” she says finally. “I’ll be there.”
cruise control
I spot 6 speaking into her cellphone and head over. “Wait,” she is saying. “It’s not—” She stops, listening, and I can tell by the furious line of her jaw that something is very wrong. “You can’t do this. You can’t—” Abruptly she lowers the phone. “Son of a bitch.”
“What?”
“Tom Cruise has pulled out.”
“What?”
“That was his agent. He’s denying us further access to Tom.”
“He can’t do that. Isn’t there a contract?”
“Oh, there’s a contract,” 6 says. “Apparently we broke it.”
“We broke it?”
“Cruise is committed to Backlash, but he’s got an out clause if we substantially alter the film’s content. If the film changes, he gets to reevaluate if he wants to be in it.” She shoves the phone into her pants pocket. “Obviously, the clause is never meant to be invoked this late in the project. It’s there to allow him to commit to a script early on but back out if it’s developed in a direction he doesn’t like.”
“Tom doesn’t like my changes?” I ask, aghast.
“No, the changes are fine,” 6 says, scowling. “That’s just the excuse. What he doesn’t like—or rather, what his agent doesn’t like—is Babe-A-Licious. She doesn’t want Tom in a film with a girl called Babe-A-Licious. Thinks it harms his credibility.”
I blink. “Well, that’s actually understandable.”
“That’s not the point. The point is that the committee ordered Cindy to be billed as Babe-A-Licious, and we don’t have the power to overrule them.”
“Who does?”
“Sneaky Pete.”
“Oh.” I think for a second. “Okay, so let’s just ignore the committee. What can they do to us? If we get this thing done, we’ll apologize. Big deal.”
“That’s not what I’m concerned about. The problem is that if we directly contravene the committee, we could get Jamieson down here asking us why.”
I consider. “We’ll just have to be sneaky. We change Cindy’s name back, but we don’t tell them.”
6 shakes her head. “There’s a better way.”
a chat with finances
“Ah,” Finances says. He doesn’t sound particularly happy to hear from me. “Mr. Scat.”
“Hi,” I say cheerfully. The wind is starting to pick up, swirling dust around me, and I move around the side of the hangar to shield the phone. “Look, I just need to check something with you.”
“Well,” Finances says, “perhaps you should have raised it at our scheduled meeting yesterday.”
“Uh, yes, if I’d known about it, I should have,” I say, “but I didn’t. So I’d like to raise it now.”
There’s a pause from Finances, which starts to raise my suspicions. But maybe I’ve just been around 6 too long. “Yes ...”
“I know the committee wanted to bill Cindy as Babe-A-Licious, but Tom Cruise’s agent has objected. He won’t comply with our changes unless we ditch the name.”
“What’s your question, Mr. Scat?”
“I want an unofficial green light from you to just call Cindy ‘Cindy.’ ”
“No,” Finances says.
This is a surprise. “I’m sorry, I obviously, didn’t explain the situation properly. You see—”
“Actually, Mr. Scat,” Finances cuts in, “I’m quite busy now. Can we talk later?”
“Well, no. We have a situation here and I need a quick answer.”
“Does the committee hold enough scheduled meetings for you, Mr. Scat?” Finances inquires.
“More than enough,” I say truthfully.
“Then I suggest that you organize yourself and present your concerns at the next meeting.”
“Look,” I say, wondering why Finances is being so obtuse. “I can’t wait until then. Get it? I need to run it by you now.”
“I can’t make that decision,” Finances says. “It needs to be considered by the committee.”
“Well, fine,” I say. “But you’re the chairman, right? I want you to say that, unofficially, in principle, you think it would be okay for 6 and me to do what’s necessary to complete this film. Then the committee can ratify it. Look, we’re not allowed to make decisions without your approval. I’m just trying to do this by the book.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I breathe.
“Good-bye, Mr. Scat.”
“Hold it,” I say. “Just wait a goddamned minute. What’s with you people? I’m not asking for your kidneys here. I just want your green light.”
“Mr. Scat,” Finances says tightly, “let me make this clear for you. I don’t want to have anything more to do with Backlash than I absolutely have to. This disaster is all yours.”
Slowly, it dawns. “You’re covering your ass. Suddenly we’re in trouble and you want to disown us. Well, thanks for the support.”
“We did what we were supposed to,” Finances hisses. “We arranged meetings and made suggestions to help you. This isn’t our fault.”
“You did what you were supposed to, all right,” I say, heating up. “You stalled us and you threw up obstacles. That’s what you were chosen for.”
“I’m going straight to Mr. Pete,” Finances says tightly, “and reporting that the committee no longer wishes to act in a supervisory capacity for you.”
“That’s beautiful,” I say. “That’s just what I wanted to hear.”
“This is on your head, Mr. Scat. Yours alone. I want you to be clear on that.”
“Sure,” I say. “It’s duly noted.”
committeeless
When I reenter the hangar, Kline is wrapping up a shot of Gwyneth doing a military drill. She slaps around a big laser gun in her hands and snaps to attention and, all in all, looks pretty cute. 6 is talking with Tina, but when she spots me she heads over. “How’d it go? Did you get around the committee?”
&
nbsp; “The committee is no longer an issue.”
6 nods, impressed. “Good work.”
I shrug modestly.
a stumble
Cindy finally turns up at three and is finished with makeup at five. While Kline and the first assistant director run the shoot like a hyperactive army camp, I sit with the writer and we work on my ideas, making them as shoot-friendly as possible. When we work out we can save three days by relocating a scene from Earth to the alien spacecraft—and use an existing set—we whoop with excitement, and the overworked crew glare at us.
Kline shoots for a long, frustrating four hours before he’s happy with a few shots of Tom and Gwyneth running down corridors, and when we break at nine the whole crew is grumpy and tired. We’re already way behind schedule, but 6 and I aren’t stupid enough to try and keep them back any later.
6 and Tina hang back to talk to Kline for a while, and since I’m not allowed near Kline, I spend my time wandering around the set and playing with cool props. When Kline finally leaves, 6 is looking pale and drawn.
“So?” I say.
She shakes her head. “This is tight. Too tight.”
We don’t get back to Synergy until midnight, then we eat and get ready for bed in silence. Just before 6 switches off the Barbie lamp, I say, “Hey. We’re still okay, right?”
6 looks at me for a long moment, then kills the lamp.
black wednesday
Wednesday is a total disaster.
We do well at first: 6 gets hold of Tom Cruise’s agent and tells him we’ve caved on the Babe-A-Licious issue, and by lunch we have Tom again. We have Cindy from eight, mainly because I make a point of calling her at six to get her out of bed. Event Marketing leaves a message for me, volunteering their resources to help organize the premiere. And Kline is skilled and efficient, tearing through the shots and making up a little of the time we lost yesterday.