Unscripted

by Davis Bunn

  “I assumed one of our main competitors made an offer you couldn’t refuse.”

  “Actually, I’m joining a firm in San Luis Obispo.”

  He gave that a beat. “Did you steal a client?”

  She thought of how they had misfiled her one guy who was not actually a client since he was ten thousand miles away and without funds. Even so, she made a mental note to drop Zhang a line. “No.”

  “For real?”

  “I walked away clean.”

  “Then I don’t get it.”

  “If you hear something, will you let me know?”

  “Sure thing. I’ll probably do it from a throwaway phone at midnight. You understand?”

  “Yes. I owe you.”

  “Dinner at the Ivy, dessert at my place?”

  “I don’t owe you that much.” She waited through his laugh. “Can I ask about a Chambers exec?”

  “Hang on a sec.” There was silence, then the sound of a door closing. “Which one?”

  “Lawrence Abbott.”

  “You’re dealing with him?”

  “Let’s just say I’m headed into a meeting with him, and I have no intel. Nada.”

  “Then you’re moving up a step. The only confabs I’ve been party to with Mr. Abbott have been in the company of our betters. Don’t call him Larry. He hates the name. Not that you’ll ever be on familiar terms . . . Now, that’s interesting.”

  “What?”

  “I just remembered something. Your old pal mentioned he was on point for face time with Abbott. Today.”

  Megan felt a chill run through her. “Brandon Lee is working on a project with Lawrence Abbott?”

  “That high up the Chambers food chain, one of the partners will claim the account. Brandon is just their hired gun. It’s the role he’s born to play.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.” Even if her old firm had a client who was competing for the project with Danny, the current budget would not spark that level of interest. Not at K&K.

  “With Brandon involved, you need to watch for the unseen blade.” Gary sounded worried. “Take care, you hear?”

  Megan pulled into the Chambers satellite parking lot a little after eleven. She drove up the curving ramp to the top deck. Her car would be an oven by the time she returned. But the cell phone signal was strongest up here, and the deck was virtually hers.

  She parked where she could look out over the LA skyline and phoned Danny. “I’ve arrived.”

  “Wait, let me patch in the others.”

  There were a couple of clicks, then Greg came on. “I hate how you’re going in there alone.”

  Annie said, “Greg, enough with the frets. That’s not what she needs to be hearing.”

  “I vote we go for the gig. Say yes to their terms, however awful.”

  “Coward,” Annie said.

  “Let’s recap here. We got what, exactly? Wait, I know. We got nothing.”

  “We’ve been handed an incredible setting and a wonderful young actress,” Annie pointed out.

  “So we turn this into a decent project, we deliver on time, we make a name for ourselves with Chambers. There are worse endings to a hard week.”

  “We’ve still bent ourselves into servile positions. And everybody will know.”

  “It’s the first time for us to work with Chambers,” Greg said. “They’re buying most of their product from the top names in the business.”

  “We’re saving their bacon when one of these so-called top people completely failed. Now they want to apply the screws. How exactly is this going to get us anywhere?”

  Greg went silent.

  “Well?”

  “I still say it’s our best chance. We tried for the big ticket. They called our bluff. It happens.”

  Annie snorted. “Danny, don’t you have anything to say?”

  “I’m waiting for Megan to give us the word.”

  Megan said, “And I’m waiting for somebody to say how this situation is all my fault.”

  Annie actually laughed. “Nobody thinks that, do they, Greg?”

  There was enough steel in the way she spoke his name that Greg came back with, “You tried to do what we all wanted but didn’t know how.”

  “There,” Annie said. “That didn’t hurt, did it?”

  “I need for you to decide how I should respond to Abbott’s offer if he does lowball us,” Megan said.

  “You have my answer,” Greg said.

  Annie pleaded, “Danny, tell him he’s wrong.”

  “I would, it’s just . . .”

  “Danny?”

  “I have an incoming call. I need to take this.”

  Greg was in full-fret mode. “You’re switching to another call? Now?”

  “Everybody just sit tight. Megan, don’t move.”

  The phone went quiet until Annie asked, “What just happened?”

  Megan didn’t respond at first. But she was thinking that Danny’s absence was a genuine void. She liked that. How this man she was coming to know just a little was the rock everybody needed to rely on. “Danny said wait. We wait.”

  Early in his career, Danny had served as gopher on a low-budget shoot for Curtis Rhodes, a former A-list star. Curtis had loved the art of acting too much to give in to the sorrow of losing his top rank. He’d stayed off the booze, avoided on-air rants, and kept silent when the LA knives started carving slices from his reputation. Danny now knew there were a few such stars in every generation—actors who endured the roller-coaster ride of their fickle profession and accepted the hard years of mediocre scripts, new directors, and wannabe production companies as just part of the craft.

  Danny had done his best to treat Curtis as the star he had known in his childhood days. Back when the man and his roles had represented the world Danny and JR had both yearned to join. Someday.

  At the end of an exhausting sixteen hours, Danny was seated in the minuscule dressing cubby as Curtis stripped off his makeup. Danny asked about how it had all started. The big chance. How the actor had separated himself from the crowd and soared into the LA stratosphere.

  He expected to hear about the big role. When Curtis had been selected to play a college student who set up a party center in the basement of his dorm, fell in love, blackmailed the college president, won a Maserati in a rigged card game, and came out on top of the world. Danny knew all of that because he had researched it just in case such a moment as this arose.

  Instead, Curtis told him, “Watch for the moment when the angels sing.”

  Danny didn’t know how to respond to that.

  “When I was starting out, I played second to a Broadway star in a musical,” Curtis said. “The star never missed a show, which is good for everyone concerned because I can’t dance. I asked him the same question. And that was what he told me.”

  “The angels sing,” Danny said.

  “The impossible event. It comes silently, a quick snippet of opportunity, there and gone in a flash. So secretive it would be easy to claim it never happened at all.” He watched Danny in the mirror rimmed by lights. “You know what I’m going to say next, don’t you.”

  “You have to be ready.”

  “Most people trying to make it out here become so embittered by the process that they don’t prep. They don’t grow or learn or build their repertoire. They just spend their time complaining. It’s all too easy to hide from the wounds and the rejections and the people who tell you the chance will never come.” He turned back to the mirror and inspected the face that had flamed a hundred million romances. “Once in a very rare while, the angels sing twice in one life. It’s what I keep reminding myself on days like this. That I have to walk through this day with heart and eyes and ears open. Just in case.”

  Danny had seen the event come to others. The silent arrival of the impossible opportunity. And as long as it had been him and JR against the world, he had managed to hold on to the hope that their time would come. Which was another reason why jail had been so harsh, the loss of
his best friend so bitter. The unspoken terror was that his hope of ever rising to the top of the Hollywood heap was gone as well.

  He was thinking about all that when he switched to the incoming call and said, “This is Danny Byrd.”

  A young man spoke the impossible words, calm as ice on a stick. “Hold, please, for Lane Pritchard.”

  Lane Pritchard was a legend in a town made for fables. She had started as just another mail-room drone but within ten years had risen to be the only female managing partner of a top-tier LA agency. Eight years after that, she had lost a boardroom battle that was still discussed in awestruck tones. Lane then set up her own firm. She named it Boutique, which was the name Danny had seen on his phone.

  The big agencies were the only ones capable of performing their new role, the work that defined successful Hollywood agents from the nineties to today. These agencies packaged. Only a huge agency representing every major component of the talent pool could bring together script, director, producer, cinematographer, and stars. Only they could sell it as a package ready to be shot. All the risks and delays were taken care of in-agency. Only then could studio execs stay shielded from selling a concept and then watching their careers fade in a torrent of holdups and impediments and scandals and legal disputes.

  Lane Pritchard defied the trend. Her stars were big enough to demand their inclusion. Not since the death of Swifty Lazar had a lone agent managed to represent such an array of A-list talent.

  Lane now kept him waiting for ten long minutes. Danny received five frantic texts, first from Greg and then from Megan and another from Greg and then two from Annie. He hesitated to respond because he could scarcely believe what was happening. To text the name meant accepting it was real. But five minutes after Megan was supposed to be in the meeting with Larry, Danny finally texted who had phoned him. The trio went silent.

  Lane came on the line and demanded, “Is what I hear true?”

  “If it’s bad,” Danny replied, “then probably.”

  “Your erstwhile partner and lifelong friend skipped town with that platinum-haired loser?”

  Danny had listened to Lane’s legendary blunt bark on any number of stages and behind-the-scenes TV shows. Even so, he found himself amazed by the energy in this one-on-one. “I hadn’t heard who the lady was, other than she acted.”

  “That’s too strong a word. She’s a reality-show clown. The most real component of her body is her ego.”

  Danny did not want to talk about JR and his choice in ladies. “Why are we having this conversation?”

  “Word is, the Chambers group has dumped a trainload of garbage in your collective laps. And your response was to claim you’re polishing a diamond.”

  Danny hesitated.

  “I’m waiting.”

  He decided this woman deserved the raw and unvarnished truth. But first he needed to know something. “Who am I talking to here?”

  It was Lane’s turn to go silent.

  “If it’s Lane Pritchard and nobody else, I want to give you exactly what I have. But if I’m talking to the LA scene . . .”

  “This is you and me and one client. I’ll tell you before it goes any further.”

  “In that case, we might have a good thing. But we’re still operating on smoke and mirrors, basically. We have a concept in its rawest form. And one additional component that could actually turn this into a major hit.”

  “Define major.”

  “There’s no chance timewise for Chambers to plan a cinematic release. But if this is as good as we think it might become, our project could potentially go to the big screen overseas. Then become a mainstay of the CBC annual schedule.”

  “Aired numerous times,” Lane interpreted. “Then brought out every year for a repeat performance.”

  “That’s what my gut is saying.”

  “How long is your shoot?”

  “Hard to say. Airdate is Valentine’s Day. We need to complete it in time for edits and scoring. We don’t have a finished script or a budget.”

  “Ballpark.”

  Danny had spent many nighttime hours running through this very issue. “Twenty-two days. Twenty-five tops.”

  “Is the girl as good as I hear?”

  That rocked him back a step. “How did . . .”

  “I live and breathe on the strength of my contacts. Tell me.”

  “Lane, the girl is incredible. She reminds me of the first film Lauren Bacall made. That same punch-to-the-gut power.”

  “You’ll let me see her test?”

  “Of course. And Lane, it was just one take. No reshoot.”

  “She’s not trained?”

  His phone chirped, signaling another incoming message. Danny did not need to check the screen. “Lane, excuse me, but our attorney is late for her meeting with Lawrence Abbott.”

  “That schmo. That waste of a perfectly good corner office.”

  “I agree. But she’s being called into his office as we speak.”

  “Tell her to go in and tread water.”

  “You’ll stay on the line?”

  “Absolutely, darling. You and I need to talk about twenty-two tomorrows.”

  22

  MEGAN RUSHED into the Chambers foyer at one measure below a full sprint. The receptionist-guard was a tall man who observed her entry with a vast grin. “Anytime you want to run like that for me, I’m available.”

  She was so jazzed from what Danny had just told her, she could smile, tap the ring on his fourth finger, and say between pants, “Be sure to let me have your home number.”

  The guard winced. “What can I do for you?”

  “Get me back the fifteen minutes I’m missing. I’m late for a meeting with Lawrence Abbott.”

  “Somebody with your spark deserves better.” He lifted the phone and dialed. “Mr. Abbott, I have . . .”

  “Megan Pierce.”

  “Ms. Pierce is late because I got held up with a . . .” He lifted his gaze to the distant ceiling and shook his head. “Right away, sir.”

  As he printed off her visitor’s badge, Megan asked, “Am I correct in assuming Lawrence is not your all-time favorite executive?”

  “It would be highly inappropriate of me to reply.” He peeled the back off the badge and passed it over. “Ninth floor. Sorry, we’re all out of flame-retardant gear.”

  Megan entered the double doors marked Programming and gave her name to a slender young man with a beautiful face and superior expression. He sniffed and pointed his pen at the waiting area. For once, Megan was more than happy to cool her heels.

  Greg texted, then Annie, both asking how it was going. When they heard she was still stuck in leather-bound limbo, Danny came back with a text.

  Danny

  Hang there as long as you possibly can.

  The texts were directed to them all, so Megan read Annie’s response.

  Annie

  Dannnnyyy??????

  Danny

  Stay tight.

  Greg

  Ninety seconds more and I’m going to be smeared by exploded writer.

  Annie

  Oh, and the two-step you’re doing is to music I’m not hearing?

  Megan

  I believe I’m listening to Greg’s tune.

  Greg

  There, see?

  Megan

  Problem is, I think Larry is tone-deaf.

  Annie

  Don’t call him that, he’s probably tracking our texts.

  Danny

  Okay, people. We are a go for launch.

  23

  WHEN DANNY RECONNECTED with the agent, her first words were, “You were saying she’s not trained.”

  “Well, she is. On the sax. Her name is Emma Sturgis, by the way. She’s had no acting lessons of any kind.”

  “You’re working with her?”

  “Four hours before the take, and a couple more times since.”

  “Your impression?”

  Danny took a breath and gave it to her straight. “Th
is first film, the stars with experience must play off Emma. We need to use the core emotions she has boiling inside, basically build a character that lets her be as she is. The camera loves her, so that should work. But that’s not what you’re asking, is it?”

  Lane responded by changing direction. “You know the cause of these emotions?”

  “Her father was a police officer. Two years ago he was shot in the line of duty.”

  “Poor kid.” Lane gave that a beat, then asked, “Her music is classical?”

  “Jazz. Contemporary. Fusion. Sax mostly, but she also plays flute. She’s already improvising. At fourteen.”

  “Jennie is a jazz fanatic.”

  Danny felt an electric quiver in his gut. “Jennie French?”

  “Right. She has a firm commitment to a Lionsgate project that’s been pushed back to early February.”

  Danny plopped down on the bottom step, glad it was there to catch him. His legs had just lost all their strength. “You’re offering me Jennie French?”

  “There are conditions.”

  “Of course there are. I accept them.”

  She chuckled. “Young man, you are a breath of fresh air. Executive producer status, name above the title, scale, closed set, and thirty percent of all residuals.”

  “Done.”

  “And script approval.”

  “Lane, we can’t. We just can’t. We’ll be writing as we shoot. Any delay, even an hour, and we miss our target date.”

  “You can’t expect Jennie to accept a role in a film written by unknowns.”

  “Greg Riggs and Annie Callow have worked on their last four projects together. Annie is beyond gifted. Greg’s input results in a script that is ready to go straight to film. Their partnership has generated screenplays that go far beyond the quality they’ve been able to achieve, given their budgets.”

  “I like the way you stand up for your team, Danny Byrd.”

  “With them, it’s a cinch.”

  “Even after Riggs landed you in jail?”

  “Greg was misled by JR and pressured by his stars’ tight schedules. He did wrong. But for the right reasons.”

  “Well said, Danny Byrd.”

  The way she spoke his name sent the electric current through his entire body. Tight bursts of energy, causing him to jerk slightly, then freeze.