Sean Rosen Is Not for Sale

by Jeff Baron

  “Even when you were six? Or eight?”

  “Nonfiction. I don’t like stories.”

  “How do you decide what to read?”

  “Subject matter.”

  “Do you look inside the book?”

  “That’s where the words are.”

  “No. I mean when you’re deciding.”

  “Oh. No. Maybe the introduction.”

  “What are you reading today?”

  “Do I have to tell you?”

  “Do you have to? No. I mean, I want to know. But it’s up to you.”

  “Thermal Propulsion Theory.”

  “How is it?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t finished it yet.”

  “Do you ever take books out of the library?”

  “No. I read them here.”

  “Well, thanks for talking to me. We’ll try to be quiet.”

  “Good.”

  I interviewed six or seven other people, some kids, some grown-ups, and a few of the people who work there. Ethan took a lot of good pictures. Carl was still there when we left. I think it’s going to be an interesting podcast when I get around to editing it, and writing and recording the song. I have no idea what the song will be, but I’m not worried. I don’t really run out of ideas. They’re not all good, but I keep having them.

  Leaving the library, Ethan lives in one direction and I live in the other. When we said good-bye, I thought about saying something about his brother. Dwight. Or Skip. But then I thought maybe we talked about him enough today. And Ethan seemed like he was in a good mood. I didn’t want to change it. I wasn’t sure I could talk about his brother without having a sad look.

  I got home and went right to my room to check Dan Welch’s email. Nothing from Collectibles yet. I’m going crazy. It’s been more than two days!

  Dan Welch would probably tell me to calm down, but he wants to know too. I thought for a minute about whether Dan Welch ever works on the weekend. I think he sometimes does.

  To: Dan Welch

  From: Dan Welch Management

  Dear Dan,

  Thanks for the offer, but I checked with my wife, and she doesn’t want me to buy that Farrah Fawcett poster.

  I’m sure you’re busy, but I hope you can forward that email about Sean Rosen. I’m curious, and unfortunately, I made the mistake of mentioning it to Sean. You know what thirteen-year-old boys are like. You used to be one.

  So do me a big favor and send that email as soon as you can.

  Best,

  Dan

  Chapter 12

  On the way home from school today I saw Mrs. Dahlin, who lives near us. She and her husband are really nice, and best of all, they’re the people who have Baxter. I asked Mrs. Dahlin if I could walk him later, and she said yes.

  I’ve played with Baxter a lot, and I’ve played with a lot of other dogs, too. But I never actually took any of them for a walk. I’ve been with people and their dogs on a walk. I know what happens. But I’ve never been in charge of it.

  If I tell my mom I’m going to walk Baxter she’ll be glad, because she thinks I only think I want a dog, and if I see how much work it is, I’ll get over it. I actually don’t think I will.

  But I am a little nervous. What if Baxter doesn’t want to go with me? What if he runs away? What if he gets into a fight with another dog?

  I rang the doorbell, and Baxter started barking. I’m not worried anymore. I know Baxter, and Baxter knows me. We’re friends. Who wouldn’t want to go for a walk with a friend?

  In my dog podcast (www.SeanRosen.com/dogs), I ask people if their dogs want to get walked more often than they do get walked. Almost everyone says yes. But I didn’t ask the dogs.

  Do people really know what their dogs think, or do they just think they do? I bet they’re wrong sometimes. Like my parents. With me, I mean.

  Last week my mom came home from the store and said she got me my favorite cookies. I think she wanted me to help unpack the bags. When I finally got to the cookies, I couldn’t believe it.

  “You think these are my favorites?”

  “They’re not?”

  “No.”

  “They were.”

  “For like a week. Like four or five years ago.”

  “And now you hate them?”

  “They’re okay. They’re definitely not my favorites.”

  “Is this your creative way of saying thank you?”

  I wasn’t sure I should thank her. She doesn’t know my favorites. Her guess was way off. She got me excited for nothing. And I unpacked three bags of groceries before I figured it out.

  “Thank you, Mom.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll try to stay up-to-date on your preferences.”

  “Okay.”

  “Shall I return these cookies?”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I can.”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I want one now.”

  Mrs. Dahlin opened the door, and Baxter jumped on me to say hello. Mrs. Dahlin said, “Hi, Sean. As you can see, Baxter is very excited about your walk.”

  “Oh, good. I am too.”

  “I usually take him out by now, but since I knew you were going to, I didn’t.”

  I was sort of hoping Mrs. Dahlin already took Baxter out to do his business, so he and I could just have a nice relaxing walk. Oh, well. “Is there anything I should know?”

  “If you can, have him poop in the street. You know, instead of on someone’s lawn.”

  “How do I get him to do that?”

  “Oh . . . you know . . . just stay in the street. Not the middle of the street, of course. He’ll want to get on the grass. He can poop on the grass in the park, but I don’t think he’s gonna make it till you get there. Did you bring a bag?”

  “A bag?”

  “For the poop.”

  “Oh. Actually I didn’t.”

  “Don’t worry. Here you go. Take three, just in case.”

  “Three?”

  “He hardly ever poops three times, but you don’t want to run out of bags.”

  “No, I don’t. This might be a really stupid question, but how do you . . . you know . . . get it into the bag?”

  “Easy-peasy. You put your hand in the bag, like this, and just pick up the poop, like the bag is a glove. Then you turn the bag inside out. You never have to touch the poop. Unless there’s a hole in the bag.”

  I started looking at the plastic bags.

  “Don’t worry, Sean. I checked these. Then you just drop it in the garbage.”

  “Any garbage?”

  “Maybe wait until you get to the park. People are funny about dog poop in their trash bins, even if it’s bagged. Just bring it to the park. It’ll keep your hands warm. Okay, you two should get going. Baxter’s more than ready. Shall I put his leash on?”

  “No. I will.” If I’m going to do this, I might as well really do it.

  It was a little hard to get the leash on because Baxter was jumping around, and I had all these plastic bags. I was going to ask for a fourth bag just in case, but once the leash was on, Baxter dragged me out the door.

  Baxter was pulling me a little faster than I wanted to go. Even though I’m bigger than him, he decides. I kept us in the street, which wasn’t very easy. Just like Mrs. Dahlin said, Baxter kept pulling me toward people’s lawns.

  We didn’t get very far when Baxter stopped, and started pooping. I wasn’t sure if I should watch or not. Do dogs like to have privacy? Just to be safe, I looked the other way. Then I felt a tug on the leash. I didn’t know how I would know when he was finished, but it was easy to tell. He just walked away from it. I wish I could, too.

  “Wait a sec, Baxter.” I took one of the plastic bags out of my pocket, and I looked at the poop in the street. I thought about leaving it there, and I even thought about whether poop has DNA in it, so it could be traced back to Baxter, but only for a few seconds. If I’m ever going to have a dog, I have to be ab
le to do this.

  I wanted to hold my nose, but I had the plastic bag in one hand and Baxter’s leash in the other. So I just did it the way Mrs. Dahlin showed me. It works.

  It ended up being a very relaxing walk. I threw away the bag of poop when we got to the park. It didn’t keep my hand warm. Mrs. Dahlin probably holds the bag a different way.

  Chapter 13

  Collectibles Dan Welch finally wrote back to Dan Welch. I thought he was just going to forward that email about me, but he didn’t.

  To: Dan Welch Management

  From: Dan Welch

  Hey Dan,

  I was surprised to get your e-mail. Nothing from you for months, then twice in 1 week!

  Too bad your wife wont let you have Farrah. You could always get it and put it somewhere she never goes. If shes like my ex, that would be the laundry room. If you ask her about me, yule get another story so please dont.

  So. That email. Heres what they said.

  He copied and pasted it, but left out who it’s from.

  Dear Dan Welch,

  I’m writing about Sean Rosen. I was at Sean’s pitch meeting for the movie. I’m at a different studio now, and I’d like to talk to you about it. Before I go any further, can you let me know you’re the right Dan Welch?

  Best,

  Very interesting! You know I like Sean’s podcasts, but I had no clue your in the movie biz. Cool! Nice managing, Dan Welch.

  Tell me about this movie. Maybe I can help. I’m not exagurating when I tell you that at least 5 sepurate people have said to me, “DW, your life should be a movie.” Your boy Sean couldn’t see it, tho. RAted R, to say the least.

  So tell me what you want me to tell this person and I’ll pass it along. Glad to help.

  Later,

  Dan

  Why couldn’t he just forward the email? It would have been so easy. For him and for us. Now we have to figure out who it’s from.

  There were four other people at that meeting besides Stefanie V. President and me: Stefanie’s assistant, Brad, and her three Directors of Development, Ashley, Devin, and Eva. I don’t know any of their last names.

  It can’t be Brad, because he already has Dan Welch’s email address. He wrote to us a few times.

  But what if Brad got a new job? Then he might not have Dan Welch’s email anymore. They probably don’t let you keep your computer when you leave.

  Actually, I don’t think he left. Brad and Stefanie seem like they belong together. Plus, I spoke to Brad and also got some emails from him. This doesn’t sound like Brad.

  That leaves Ashley, Devin, or Eva. I have no idea which of them it could be. I wonder how I can figure it out. The Hollywood Reporter has a page called “Hitched, Hatched, Hired,” where they tell you who in Hollywood got married, who had a baby, and who got a new job. I looked at the last five issues (I save them all), but it looks like they don’t ever write about Directors of Development on that page. You have to be higher up.

  I Googled each of their first names, plus Director of Development, plus the name of Stefanie’s studio, but I couldn’t find anything.

  Then I called the studio’s main number, to see if I could find out who still works there. Here’s how that went.

  ME: Can you connect me with a Director of Development named Eva? (CLICK)

  I recorded that Skype meeting with Stefanie and the rest of them on my digital voice recorder, so I listened to it again. I thought maybe I could get some kind of clue about whether it was Ashley, Devin, or Eva who was going to quit soon and go to work at another studio. But those three hardly said anything during the meeting, so I can’t really tell.

  While I had my digital voice recorder out, I deleted the recording that I made of Ethan and my parents in our kitchen last Saturday. I never would have been recording if I knew he was going to tell us about his brother. I was a little tempted to listen to it once before I deleted it, but it didn’t feel right. Anyway, I’m not going to forget that conversation.

  Okay. What do we do about this mystery email?

  I think we have two choices. Dan Welch can reply, and then send it to Collectibles Dan Welch to pass it along to whichever Director of Development it is.

  That could get annoying. Actually, it already is annoying.

  The other choice is to just write to Stefanie and tell her we got an email from one of her ex-Directors of Development. I wonder if that would be okay. Is it a secret that someone who used to work there is interested in my movie? He or she didn’t say, “Don’t tell Stefanie.” At least I think they didn’t. I never saw the whole email.

  All of this made me think about something Martin Manager asked me in his email.

  Did you end up selling your idea to Stefanie President? Or have you somehow managed to start a bidding war?

  I don’t exactly know what he means by a bidding war. I just looked it up. Wikipedia says it’s something about the card game War, but I know Martin wasn’t talking about a card game. Looking at other things that came up in Google, I think a bidding war is when more than one person wants something you have. Like for example, a movie idea. Let’s say it’s called A Week with Your Grandparents.

  Stefanie’s studio offered us 10,000 dollars for the idea (plus the characters and the sequels and the theme park ride and anything else they might ever want). Then if Ashley, Devin, or Eva’s new studio also wanted it, they might offer us a bid of 15,000 dollars. Then Dan Welch could say to Stefanie, “We have an offer from another studio for 15,000 dollars. If you want it, you have to raise your bid.”

  And it wouldn’t even matter which ex-Director of Development and which studio it was. The important thing is that someone else wants it, and if you want it, you have to bid more to get it. Like when Stefanie offered to “sweeten the pot” after she got the call from Hank Hollywood about me.

  Let the war begin!

  To: Stefanie V. President

  From: Dan Welch Management

  Dear Stefanie,

  I apologize for not getting back to you after your nice letter. Things have gotten very busy around here.

  I’m glad to hear you’re back at work and that Marisa is doing well. My wife encourages you to be patient. It gets easier.

  I told Sean you sent him a hug, and he sends you one too. It’s hard to believe the two of you never met in person. He’s very fond of you and said to tell you he’s having a great time writing A Week with Your Grandparents. Maybe you’re right that it’s hard to write a screenplay (I’ve never tried), but you’d never know it talking to Sean. He thinks it’s coming out great.

  Thanks for the warning about Hank Hollywood. As someone once told me, “He’s the shark who scares the other sharks.”

  We just heard from someone else you used to work with who wants to talk to us about A Week with Your Grandparents. I thought you’d want to know.

  Yes, I do know the kinds of movies you make, and I promise to think about other clients you might want to meet. Meanwhile, I told Sean that you want to hear his other ideas. Be careful. He’s got a lot of them.

  Best,

  Dan

  Chapter 14

  Today was a terrible day at school. And it got terrible in ways I wasn’t even expecting.

  I was in such a good mood when I got to English. It’s my favorite class, and I was happy to see Miss Meglis, my favorite teacher.

  “Okay, new and soon-to-be teenagers”—she calls us something different every day—“we all know what today is. The long-awaited, much-anticipated due date for your short stories. I’ll collect them now.”

  My heart stopped beating. I totally forgot. When we got the email from Collectibles I got so excited about the bidding war that I completely forgot about school.

  I almost always do my homework. Even for classes I don’t like. How did this happen?

  My mom usually asks me at dinner if I have homework, but she worked the evening shift at the hospital last night. My dad never asks me. I swear, I’m not blaming them, but that’s part of what
happened. But the main part was me thinking about my movie and not about school.

  It was awful sitting there watching everyone else turn in their stories. It would have been so easy for me to write mine. In fact, I did write mine, but only in my head. I’m lucky that writing is easy for me, so it was really stupid not to do it.

  “I don’t have mine. I’m sorry. I’ll have it tomorrow.”

  Miss Meglis just stood there. It took her a minute to believe it. I sounded like some other kid.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Sean. You’ll lose points.” She didn’t whisper this. It was loud enough for everyone to hear.

  I don’t want to lose points, but it’s worse having my favorite teacher disappointed in me. It’s depressing. I didn’t raise my hand during the whole class, which is unusual for me. I sometimes stay for a minute at the end to talk to Miss Meglis, but I didn’t today. It would feel like I was trying to get her to not take off points and to tell me I could have an extra day. But she knows and I know that I didn’t really need an extra day.

  Then, walking to my next class, I hear, “Thanks for telling me about Dave Motts.”

  It’s Brianna. Buzz must have told her.

  “I thought we were friends, Sean.”

  “We are.”

  “Friends don’t keep secrets from friends.”

  Sometimes they do.

  Then she said, “You know someone in the music business and you didn’t tell me?”

  “Well, I . . .”

  “‘Well, I . . .’” She was imitating me. “I looked for him online last night and I couldn’t find him.”

  “Well . . .”

  “M-O-T-T-S, right?”

  “Right. Like the applesauce. You know, managers don’t really have websites.”

  “I also asked my dad to ask his friend in the music business.”

  “You know someone in the music business and you didn’t—”

  “Don’t even try it, Sean. Anyway, he never even heard of Dave Motts.”