“Yeah, well,” Gary says miserably, and I am suddenly reminded that his job is in the balance here. “I’m sorry. I want to get this prick as much as you do.”
“I doubt that,” 6 says, and kills the speaker.
a fishtail
We spend a listless afternoon making storyboards (me), reading up on film production (6), and making lots of coffee (mainly 6, since she drinks much more than me). It’s hard to get motivated when everything we do could be wasted effort by this time tomorrow.
When 6 finally calls a break for dinner, I’m so relieved I leap up from the floor. “Fishtail?”
6 shrugs. “Whatever.”
It’s drizzling outside, so we huddle under 6’s umbrella. Fishtail is bright, warm and so far away from Sneaky Pete that it feels like paradise. We slip into a booth and both order burgers.
I’m happily stirring my milkshake with my loopy straw when I realize what we’re doing. I put down my shake and look at 6.
She meets my eyes. “What?”
“We’re letting him beat us,” I say. “We’re giving up.”
6 looks away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“But it’s true.”
“I know it’s true,” she says, annoyed. “But there’s nothing we can do about it. We came in too late. End of story.”
Another long pause. I keep watching 6.
“What?” she says finally.
“Well...”
“Oh,” she says, “I’m disappointing you, is that it? Well, sometimes you just can’t win. Understand? We’ve done everything we can.”
“We haven’t actually—”
“Oh, sure,” 6 says. “Obviously we haven’t decided to spend the next twenty-four hours in a doomed, frantic rush to make some scenes from a movie which inevitably turn out to be not as good as the one that’s been filmed over several months with a colossal budget. Yes, Scat, you’re right. We could have done that. So, fine, we’re giving up.”
I’m tempted to argue, but I don’t. I just look at her until she’s mad enough to speak again.
“Damn it, Scat, this is stupid. Do you want to kill yourself over the next day, so when Sneaky Pete wins it hurts even more? Is that what you want?”
I consider. “Yes.”
“Fine,” 6 says. A waiter appears with our food, smiling broadly. “Bag it,” she tells him. “We’ll take away.”
action
I call Gary on the mobile while 6 holds the umbrella. “Gary!” I shout over the rain. Another couple, huddled together, walk past us in the opposite direction and 6 nearly impales the girl with her spokes. I assume it’s accidental. “It’s Scat. We’re making the movie.”
“Scat, I know that.”
“No,” I say, “I mean for tomorrow.”
“Holy Christ,” Gary says.
“When’s the board meeting? We need to know exactly how long we’ve got.”
“It’s at three. But Scat, I can’t get you money that quickly.”
“What?”
“There are processes,” Gary says patiently. “I can give you a purchase order today, then you need to invoice us. And then ninety days later Credit will pay you.”
“Ninety days? Gary, we need the cash now.”
“Scat, we just don’t operate with cash. Look, I can lean on our people. But we’re looking at a couple of weeks, minimum.”
I begin to protest, then quit. “Look, Gary, you do what you have to do. We’re going to make a movie.”
a kindness crew
“We need a crew,” I say, taking a bite from my rain-soaked burger, “and a cast. Oh, and a director, too.”
6 closes the door, shutting out what is becoming very bad-tempered weather. “But we can’t pay them.”
“No. At least, not up front.” I sigh and drop onto the sofa. “Well, I guess a lot of colleges would have a film school—or at least a film club. Maybe we could call some.”
6 is shaking her head. “Not good enough. No one’s going to commit resource to help someone they don’t know. We’d spend a day just trying to prove our credibility.”
“Right ...” I think while 6 attends to her percolator. “So I guess a professional crew or actors definitely wouldn’t help us.”
“No,” 6 says, not turning.
“So what does that leave? What sort of people would work with us without any sort of guarantee that they’ll get paid?” 6 brings me over a coffee, and the act is so sweet that for a moment I forget all about films and Coke and money, and smile at her gratefully.
6’s eyes shift uncomfortably. “People you know.”
I’m momentarily thrown. “Huh?”
“People you know,” she repeats. “They’re the only ones who will help you out of kindness. Contacts.”
“Oh,” I say. “You mean friends?”
“Sure,” 6 says uncertainly. “Friends.”
I eye her for a moment, then decide to let it ride. “Except I don’t know anyone in film.”
“Oh,” 6 says, disappointed. She retires to her Captain Kirk chair.
“You know, 6,” I say, a little annoyed despite the coffee. “You don’t have to wait for me to come up with all the ideas. Feel free to throw in your own any time.”
“Ideas aren’t my strength. They’re yours.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to come up with every idea, does it?” She regards me expressionlessly. “Go on, just hit me with one little idea. Just one.”
6 looks at me for a long time, then sighs soulfully. “Fine.” She looks around the office, perhaps seeking inspiration. “Maybe,” she frowns, “we could make it all ourselves.”
“Okay...” I don’t want to dissuade 6 from ever suggesting another idea. “Of course, we’d do a total hack job, having never done it before. And we’d still need help—we can’t do everything. We still need actors.”
“Maybe Tina would act,” 6 suggests.
“Hey,” I say, brightening. “Good idea. She’s at UCLA, right? Maybe she’d even have a few ideas for us. What’s her major?”
6 stares at me.
“What?”
6 frowns at the table for a moment, then looks up at me. Her expression is curious: a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. “Film.”
idle chitchat
“Wow,” Tina says, flashing her green eyes at me. They really are startling, even though they’re partially obscured by lank black hair. She puts her hands on her hips, her tiny frame blocking the doorway. “I didn’t think I’d see you two again.”
“Uh,” I say, looking around 6’s old apartment, “well, you never know, huh?” There’s a boy sitting on the sofa, flicking through cable and studiously ignoring us. Tina is also studiously avoiding introducing us to him, so I guess it’s just a typical Tina relationship.
“And how are you, 6?” Tina asks pointedly.
“Fine,” 6 says, looking away.
“Did 6 tell you why she left?” Tina asks me.
“For Christ’s sake,” 6 breathes.
“She didn’t like William,” Tina says accusingly. “Normal people live together all the time, but 6 didn’t want to share the apartment with a man.”
“So this must be William,” I say heartily, sincerely hoping we can avoid opening our request for Tina’s help with a fight.
Tina stops. “No, that’s Kevin. William and I broke up.”
“Imagine that,” 6 mutters.
Tina’s eyes narrow, but I get in before she can speak. “Tina, 6 and I really need your help.”
Tina looks at me for a moment, then at 6. “Really?” She smiles. “Well, come in then.”
briefing tina
“Holy shit,” Tina says. “This is so cool.”
“But the problem is,” I say carefully, “unless we can produce a few scenes by three o’clock tomorrow, we’re screwed.”
“Sure.”
“So I need to ask if you know anyone—”
“No,” Tina says, “I mean: sure, I’ll do it for you.”
I
look at 6, who just blinks, then back at Tina. “Are you saying you can organize a shoot for us? Where are you going to get a crew? ”
“I have a crew,” Tina says. “For my film. It’s my third-year project.”
“Shit,” I say, stunned.
“I have a camera, too,” Tina says helpfully.
artistic intent
Tina settles down on the sofa with “Diet Life,” and as soon as she does, Kevin gets up and disappears into the bedroom.
“Boy,” I say. “Kind of moody, isn’t he?”
Tina doesn’t respond, and I realize that she’s lost in the script. She’s making notes alongside the dialogue with a little red pencil and looking so much like she knows what she’s doing that I’m buoyed with hope.
She finishes about nine, and over pizza we argue about which scenes we should film. Tina’s particularly taken with a bit where the main character sits alone on a sofa and toys with her hair, which concerns me deeply, but 6 and I argue the merits of two humorous scenes.
“So explicit,” Tina says, wrinkling her nose.
“Tina,” I say carefully, “we’re pitching to a room full of executives. They’re not going to appreciate all the artistic subtleties of your work.”
Tina sniffs. “Like I care what they think. If they can’t appreciate—”
“Tina, we care. That’s why we’re doing this.”
Tina’s eyes flick between me and 6.
6 says, “Tina, please.”
Tina sighs. “Okay, okay. But I’m not putting my name on this.”
whereby scat and 6 sleep together
Tina’s shoot is at ten tomorrow morning, which is not great but much better than having no shoot. We decide we’ll film until twelve, edit until two and get to Coke in time for the three o’clock board meeting. We all agree on this schedule and no one says anything about how insane it is.
“Well, I’ll see you guys in the morning,” Tina says.
“Which bedroom is mine?” 6 asks.
Tina stops. She says slowly, “You’ll have to sleep out here.”
6 takes a moment to answer, and when she does it’s through clenched teeth. “But you have two bedrooms.”
“Yes, but Kevin’s in one of them.”
“Tina,” 6 says with obvious restraint, “you’re sleeping with him.”
“Not tonight I’m not,” Tina says. For Kevin’s benefit she adds loudly, “Not with him in that mood.”
6 takes a deep breath. “Tina—”
“Oh, come on, Scat’s okay. Just snuggle up on the sofa.”
“Okay,” I say quickly.
“I’m not snuggling with Scat anywhere,” 6 says emphatically.
“We could go top and tail,” I suggest helpfully. 6 turns and glares at me.
“Look, you’re both smart people,” Tina says. “I’m tired and I have to shoot a film tomorrow. You work it out.”
“Tina—” 6 says again, but she has already shut the door. 6 stares at it for a long moment.
“I don’t snore,” I offer.
“I’m sleeping on the sofa,” 6 says, and she stalks over to it to emphasize her point. “You can find somewhere on the floor.”
“There’s only one blanket,” I point out.
“So?” she says aggressively.
“6,” I say patiently. “Let’s be reasonable. No one wants to catch cold here.”
“Scat, I’m going to be very clear,” 6 says. “There is no way in hell you’re sleeping on that sofa with me.”
“Well, that makes for an interesting situation,” I say, firing up, “because there’s no way in hell I’m sleeping without a blanket.”
“Fine, ” 6 says, her dark eyes flashing, “then I’ll sleep on the sofa and let the blanket hang over onto the floor, where you can sleep.”
I open my mouth to send back a sizzling rejoinder, which will no doubt inflame 6 even further and maybe our passions will rise so much that I’ll even grab her and just kiss her hard, but then I realize that 6’s idea actually makes sense. “Oh,” I say. “Okay.”
love in the dark
Neither 6 nor myself envisioned spending the night at Tina’s, so we’re without pajamas. This doesn’t particularly worry me, but 6 is keen to rectify the situation and she risks Tina’s wrath to borrow some nightwear. When she pads back in, she’s wearing a set of shiny blue satins that are probably a loose fit on Tina’s tiny frame but cling to 6 in very distracting ways.
“What?” 6 says, catching me staring. She puts her hands on her hips, which only makes the situation worse, and I begin to realize the danger of wearing only boxers.
“Nothing,” I say quickly.
6 steps over me onto the sofa and slips under the blanket. We have a brief, lovely moment where we both tug the blanket for position, then settle on a mutually suspicious position with our backs to each other.
I lie there, listening to 6 breathe, until I get the feeling that 6 is also listening to my breathing. I try to breathe quietly for a while, but then I run out of air and let out a gasp.
“What are you doing?” 6 says sharply.
“Nothing.”
Silence. I count to a hundred, concentrating on breathing steadily. I’m up to eighty-six when 6 rolls over and something flops down onto my chest.
I look up but can’t see anything except her sheet of hair. I carefully lift up the blanket and peer under it to see that, amazingly, 6’s arm is resting on my chest. One immaculate hand extends from Tina’s blue satin top and rests, black nails and all, on my chest.
I wait for a minute, hoping that maybe this is some clever seduction ploy, then I carefully rest my left arm on top of 6’s.
No reaction. I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.
It takes me half an hour to pick up enough courage to intertwine my fingers with 6’s, and when I do, it feels like heaven. I can’t understand how it can feel so good to just hold her hand.
I lie like that in the darkness for two hours, and by the time I fall asleep I’m pretty sure I’m in love with her again.
the psychology of business
When I wake up, Kevin is sitting above my head, watching a hockey game. 6 is gone.
“Wa,” I say, which I never do except first thing in the morning. “Where is everyone?” Kevin doesn’t look at me. “Kevin?”
“My name is Steve.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I’m pretty sure that Tina said he was Kevin. Maybe this is why he’s so pissed at her.
I extract myself from the blanket and wander into the kitchen. Tina is eating toast and jam. “Hey there.”
“Hey,” Tina says distractedly, and I see she is rereading the script.
“You know, Tina, I want to thank you for this. It really means a lot to me and 6.”
“That’s okay,” Tina says, smiling brightly. “I’m not really pissed at 6.”
“That’s good.”
“She’s such a bitch,” Tina says, which I find a little contradictory, but overall quite true. “She’s got to be in charge of everything.”
I sit next to her. “Well, I guess. But in business, that’s leadership.”
Tina stares at me for a second. “I can’t believe you consider that a positive trait. How about her inability to accept other points of view? Is it good leadership to be narrow, too?”
“Focus,” I say. “They call that focus.”
Tina stares at me. “Her paranoia?”
“Business savvy.”
“Compulsive need to have everything just how she wants it?”
“Organizational skills.”
“Aggressiveness?”
“Aggressiveness,” I say, “is already a good thing.”
“Jesus Christ,” Tina says, her eyebrow ring glinting in the morning sun. “Sometimes I worry about this country.”
the shoot
I don’t realize that we have a major problem until we arrive at the shoot.
Right up until then everything’s fine. We leave on time and Tina even has a
beat-up Chrysler to take us. The front left tire vibrates alarmingly around corners, but it’s definitely faster and probably safer than LA public transport.
Both the 10 and the 405 are pretty clear, and we arrive at UCLA a full half hour before the crew and cast are due. Tina has the keys to a big Gothic building on the campus’s east side, and she leads us through to her studio. While she inspects all kinds of weird equipment I don’t even recognize, 6 and I check out the set.
“We can get rid of these,” I say, pointing to a bizarre collection of tiny cardboard beds, “and bring around that desk. There’s enough here to pass for an office.”
6 nods. “This is professional. Tina has a good shoot.”
People start drifting in over the next thirty minutes, and soon we have almost a dozen people standing around the set in groups, smoking and talking. Tina makes her way over to me. “Okay, we’re starting.”
“Where’s the cast?” I ask, looking around. I’m pretty eager to find out who these people are and hoping like crazy they’ll be good enough to carry this off.
“Well, James is over there,” she says, pointing out a lanky blond guy who is smoking and staring at his feet. He actually looks like a movie star: I’m extremely impressed. “I thought he could play the love interest. And the guy next to him is playing the executive.”
“Wow, Tina, these guys look great. Can they really act?”
“Oh, sure,” Tina says. “I’m lucky to have them, especially James. He’s doing a pilot for NBC.”
“Wow,” I say again. “And who’s going to play Jane?”
“Ah,” Tina says. “Well.”
I am struck with absolute terror. Jane is the central character. “What? Tina? Do we have a Jane?”
“The thing is,” Tina says, “I thought I could play her.”
I look at Tina for a very long time. “Uh ... 6?”
tina’s debut
“Tina, you are not playing this role.”
“6, ”Tina protests. “I’ll be good. Let me play her.”