by Davis Bunn
As she played, Emma’s gaze shifted back and forth between Randy’s hands and his face. She did not even glance toward the audience. Her concentration was total. Then Randy looked at her and nodded once.
Emma turned and fastened her attention on the bassist. The woman’s upper body rocked slightly, offering encouragement in time to her thumping melody. Emma began nodding in time to the woman and took flight. She played with such an emotional resonance that Megan did not realize she had gripped Gary’s arm. Emma did not merely play her solo. She revealed her heart. She sang her youthful fire.
The solo’s end was greeted with a spontaneous eruption that rocked the Soho Club.
Megan used the applause to look at Jennie. The camera was less than three feet from the left side of the star’s face. She occupied the last stool around the bar’s far side. Jennie’s features showed an incredible blend of anguish and shock. Megan thought she knew exactly how the star felt.
Randy waited through the tumult, then offered the audience a rousing rendition of the Jimmie Rodgers hit “Kisses Sweeter Than Wine.” Midway through, Megan saw Jennie reach up and clear her face. Her hands were incredibly unsteady. The streaks on her cheeks caught the light, smearing her skin with subtle rainbows.
The script called for Michelle to step forward and settle one hand on Jennie’s shoulder. It was the simple gesture of a close friend. What was unwritten, yet totally worked, was how Consuela reached across the bar and gripped Jennie’s arm where it rested on the bar. Alex stepped a bit closer and lifted his arm, but his gesture halted in midair, then he let his arm drop back down. They stood like that, the four of them, ignoring how almost everyone nearby watched them now. Megan found it incredible how such a silent act could bind the audience together, all of them sharing a supposedly secret tale.
Randy and his companions swung into Nat King Cole’s “Almost Like Being in Love.”
There had recently been a time when Megan had made a profession of never revealing her emotions. Sometimes late at night, when she had lain in her lonely bed and waited impatiently for another empty night to end, she had felt as though her heart held too many tears to weep. Now, as she found herself needing to clear her eyes yet again, it seemed as though this was not just a new job and a new place and hopefully a new love. Rather, she was being forced to redefine who she was. She felt as much as saw and heard Gary glance over and ask if she was all right. It was an uncommon act as far as LA went. But here the gesture carried the subtle flavor of new beginnings. Two friends swept up in music strong enough to seal out the world’s problems. For this brief instant, the most real element was the manufactured sorrow of Emma’s supposed mother.
When the song ended and the applause and whistles erupted, Megan watched Jennie rise from her stool, shrug off the hands of her friends, and slip away into the night. Megan did not follow the woman’s departure. Instead, she focused on how the camera remained tight on the three faces Jennie left behind. Michelle and Consuela and Alex watched Jennie’s exit with knowing sympathy. Megan found it astonishing in its force.
Then her attention was drawn back to the stage as Randy and his companions performed Keely Smith’s “That Old Black Magic.”
When the set ended, Emma left the stage the same way she had entered. She drifted through the restaurant, supposedly blind to the applause and whistles and smiles and accolades cast her way. She gave no sign she was even aware of the people who watched her passage. If anything, Megan thought the ovation somehow made her sad.
As Emma approached the exit, Megan saw Jennie step from the shadows behind the hostess station. Everyone in the restaurant watched as she draped an arm over her daughter’s shoulders. Together they departed the restaurant, two shadow figures bound by a mystery that pulled at Megan’s heart.
Then Greg stepped forward and clapped his hands. “Cut! That’s a wrap.”
Megan felt Gary jerk in surprise and was pleased to learn she was not the only one shocked by the forced return to reality.
“Thank you, everyone,” Greg said. “Great job. You have fifteen minutes, then we’ll shoot a second take.”
36
AFTER THE THIRD TAKE, Greg declared himself satisfied and thanked the extras for a fabulous job. Randy Willis and the two accompanists hugged a smiling Emma. As the Soho Club emptied, Danny wound cables and remained at the periphery of the action. He watched Jennie accept the crew’s greetings and congratulations. He watched Alex offer Emma what appeared to be genuine compliments.
He watched the handsome blond man hug Megan, who laughed at something he said and hugged him back.
The exchange lasted a few seconds at most. Danny knew if he asked her, Megan would have a perfectly good reason for having invited Gary to play a role in their first scene. She could no doubt explain the easy affection they showed one another. Perhaps it was a relationship that had come and gone. It didn’t matter.
Danny knew his jealousy and fear weren’t really connected to what he witnessed. Not at all.
He watched Megan bring the man over to where he stood. He heard her say something about them having worked together. Gary complimented him on the project, on Randy Willis, Jennie French, Emma’s performance. Danny kept smiling as Megan guided Gary across the street and accepted another hug before he slipped into his Mercedes, started the car, beeped the horn, and drove away.
Danny watched the taillights recede into the distance and knew with utter certainty he wasn’t ready. He couldn’t handle love.
Over the next two days, Danny occupied a nether space. He was physically present for the twelve-hour shoots. He took care of everything that arose with calm efficiency. But a robot would have been more emotionally involved.
To make matters much worse, there were problems with Emma.
No one came out and said anything. But everyone knew. They spent the days shooting secondary scenes. Greg and Annie retreated each evening to his office, where they quietly rearranged the next day’s schedule. Holding back on any deeply emotional work. Waiting.
Emma was pliant. She listened. She did what was asked. She followed Greg’s directions. She hit her marks, she said her lines, but . . .
The scenes were flat. Dull. Changing the lines did not alter the result. Watching the dailies—the raw footage of a scene—was an endurance contest.
Danny had not slept more than an hour each night since the restaurant scene. His eyes felt grainy, but otherwise he was okay. In fact, the lack of sleep helped somewhat. It granted him a numbed space from which to observe himself as well as everyone else. Especially Megan.
Even when she was away, Megan’s presence hung in the air, right there alongside the fact that Danny’s past had come back to haunt him.
Dinner that third evening was a morose event. Emma and her mother left for a quiet night at home. Jennie was upstairs in her suite, fielding calls and handling work she had put off during the day. Alex was off somewhere being Alex. The rest of them gathered at the broad kitchen table where the hotel staff had formally eaten.
Megan was in San Luis Obispo, handling the myriad of legal issues surrounding any shoot. Everyone’s eyes drifted occasionally to the kitchen wall clock. No one said anything. Speaking their thoughts out loud would only make the pressure worse.
The meal over, Danny bid the crew a good night and walked back to his cabin by the lake. The lights in Alex’s cabin were on, and Danny saw a lone silhouette pass in front of the side window.
The fatigue was a massive weight he carried down the path and up his three steps and into the front room. He lay down on his creaky bed and stared at the ceiling. Waiting for the sleep he knew was not going to come.
When his phone buzzed, Danny was tempted not to answer. He was afraid it would be Megan and he would say the wrong thing. Or the right thing. He could not even say which it was anymore. What he wanted, what he should do, how he should handle things . . . The list of impossibles stretched out into the night.
The readout said it was a blocked number. So
he answered.
When Danny heard the voice, he felt as though he had been waiting for this call ever since getting out of jail.
JR said, “Let me explain.”
37
WITHIN THE SPACE of those three words, Danny’s night crystallized with a hard brilliance. He carried the phone outside, went down the walk turned pewter by the rising moon, and stood at the lake’s edge. Studying the dark liquid mirror.
JR asked, “You there, bro?”
“Don’t call me that.”
Johnny Rocket responded with a hyena’s laugh. “You gonna hear me out?”
“Go ahead.”
“Truth is, man, I got tired of waiting.”
Danny was fairly certain JR was stoned. The words emerged with a slight twist, like they were puzzle pieces JR had set into the wrong positions. He did that sometimes, showing up at the office after an all-night party, pretending he could hide his inebriation behind laughter and words that did not quite connect.
JR went on, “That screenplay I sent you.”
“You were always sending me scripts.”
“I’m talking about the last one. The only one that mattered. Night Express. You remember?”
“Yes.” Danny had a near-perfect recollection of movies. He could see a film once, even one he thoroughly disliked, and ten years later he could recall every segment. Characters, scenic structure, much of the dialogue. “It was lame.”
“See, man, that’s the thing. I’m out there all the time, scoping the scene, finding us the gig that will put us on the map. And you act like your only job is to shoot me down.”
Danny nodded. He had figured this was the issue, the reason why JR did what he did, and why it happened now. “We had an agreement.”
“Sure, okay. But—”
“We would only move on projects that we both wanted to move on. And we would only move together.”
“But you were never going to move, were you.” A hint of the frantic rage surfaced. The filament at the core of JR’s being. The one that burned so hot he hid it from everyone, most especially from himself. “Long as you kept shooting me down, you didn’t have to risk a dime. You could sit there on your safe little sets, doing your little gigs, banking your safe little salary.”
Danny saw no need to respond.
JR panted three times, building up. “You were never going to green-light a project. You ran from the risk. That’s your job. Risk avoidance. When it came to taking a risk, you were a . . .”
Danny waited to see if JR was actually going to finish his sentence. But his former partner swallowed his last word. Coward. The unspoken thought hung in the night, as brilliant as the moon.
Danny said, “Why are we having this conversation?”
It was JR’s turn to go quiet.
“You’re in Cabo with our money. What were you going to spend it on anyway? Not even you could stuff close to a million dollars up your nose.”
“I didn’t . . . I went ahead with the project.”
Danny felt as though he had just slipped away. Out of his body, away from the stress and the problems and all the impossible issues.
JR went on in a rush, “I set up a dummy corporation and acquired the script. I started preproduction. Things were looking good, man. I signed two stars and a director, I had the green light from the Italians, the distributors at Sony gave me a preliminary offer. I was going to come back to you with all the pieces in order. All you had to do was sign.”
Danny floated in disembodied ease out over the lake. He glided through the silver light. Weightless. Leaving his physical form and all the burdens there on the shore. Paralyzed.
“You know what happened, right? The Italians didn’t just let you down. I was this close. Then they just . . . vanished. One day we were having lunch and talking terms. The next day they were gone.” JR panted hard. Running the race of his life, all the way to Cabo. “What can I say, man. I freaked. I couldn’t face you. I couldn’t . . .”
Danny flew back and settled into his body. Trapped all over again. He repeated, “Why are we having this conversation?”
JR’s swallow was clearly audible. “I’m back.”
“You’re where?”
“Here. LA. In every sense of the word. I was tracked down by Kleber and Klaufstein.”
“Wait, what?”
“You know, K&K. The big-league law firm found me in Cabo and offered this lifeline. One of their major clients has made a firm offer for the project. Danny, I’m looking at a letter promising an initial up-front payment of a cool mil. Which means I can put back everything I . . .”
“Stole.”
“But it’s only valid if we both stay on as producers.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“There you go, playing the assassin. Danny, they like us. This is our chance. We’re being offered a producer’s gig for a film with a budget of eight million dollars.”
Danny turned from the moonlight and the night’s freedom. “Who is K&K fronting?”
“They haven’t said yet, and won’t until we sign. I know this is a major ask. But man, if you could just set this aside . . . You can have my take. But you’ve got to talk with the prosecutor. Get her to drop the charges. Do that, sign on with me, and your money is back in the bank, Danny. We can pay off all the outstanding debts, leave us ready to step inside the big tent.”
Danny cut the connection. He stood gripping the phone with both hands, trying to sort through the tempest and find not just the answer but the truth. Because one thing he was certain of above all else.
He was missing something major.
38
MEGAN DID NOT LEAVE the San Luis Obispo offices until after nine that evening. The day’s stress felt wrapped around her like a concrete overcoat. She had brewed a cup of green tea for the journey, but it rested in the central console untouched. She had not eaten anything since breakfast.
The ribbed asphalt ran straight through fields for a time before winding its way around the Santa Rita hills. Megan liked coming home this way. She probably needed to sell her condo in Westwood and find someplace in San Lu, as the locals called it. But Megan felt no great rush. Her parents clearly liked her being home, and the drive between Solvang and San Lu was manageable. She also knew it was good not to need to worry over this now. Her dance card was already too full.
Her phone rang as she was on the final approach to Solvang. “This is Megan.”
Gary asked, “Where are you?”
“Almost home. It’s been a long day.”
“Is this phone secure?”
Megan pulled up to her parents’ home and reversed into the drive. She wanted to focus on the outside world for whatever came next. “I have no idea.”
“Is this your company phone?”
“I kept the number, but I turned in the device. This is a new one.” When Gary remained silent, she demanded, “What’s the matter, Gary?”
“Something’s going on. I asked one lady about the project Brandon put forward, and it was like I poked a stick into a hornet’s nest.”
Megan stared at the night. Hills cut a sloping silhouette from the eastern skyline. She rolled down all her windows and sat thinking.
Gary went on, “Here I thought I was being careful. I only asked my first supervisor, someone I thought I could trust to be discreet. The next thing I know, Aaron is in my office, breathing fire.”
Aaron Seibel. Her former boss. “What did you tell him?”
“The only thing that came to mind was that I’d heard a rumor about something big going on with Legend Partners. And if it was true, I wanted in.”
“Nice move.”
“Yeah, it’s amazing how fast the brain works when overdosing on adrenaline and fear.”
“What did Aaron say?”
“He freaked. Demanded to know who had talked. I said I couldn’t be certain, it was just office gossip. He asked if it was Brandon. I’ve got to tell you, I was tempted to say yes. But I couldn’t do it.
Aaron warned me that if I wanted to keep my job, I wouldn’t speak about this to anyone, and left.”
“When was this?”
“About an hour ago. Long enough for me to stop shaking.”
A night bird called and another responded. Quick bell-like chirrups. “I don’t understand.”
“That makes two of us.” Over the car’s speakers she heard a gunning engine. She assumed Gary was on the freeway, heading up Mulholland Drive’s steep incline. He had a hillside condo overlooking Studio City. “One thing I know for certain. Aaron wouldn’t get this worked up over a small-time television gig.”
Megan liked how Gary was not running from the threat. It said a lot about the man. “I agree.”
“When the office went quiet, I did a little trolling through our database. Legend’s average budget for the features it shot last year was twenty-eight million. It has a new television arm, but right now it’s working on just one pilot for NBC. The budget is six mil.”
“Chambers would never put up that kind of money,” Megan said. “Or come anywhere near the audience numbers that sort of budget would require.”
“The number I’m calling you on is a throwaway. You’re the only person who has it. Call me outside office hours.”
“Gary . . . this is above and beyond.”
“Hey, the acting gig you set me up for was just off the scales. And then your offer of a job—”
“It’s not a job yet.”
“I know. But still. Someday I hope I can tell you how much it meant, having you single me out.”
“I think you just did,” Megan replied. “Be careful. Stay safe.”
39
MEGAN WAS SO TIRED she left her phone downstairs in the front hall. She did that on rare occasions when she assumed someone would try to interrupt her rest, which she desperately needed. She made a salad of easy colors—as in, everything handy—and ate standing by the rear windows, staring at her reflection in the dark glass. She was half asleep before she started climbing the stairs.