FLOWER SHOP – ANOTHER ANGLE – NIGHT
Lovejoy enters, cautiously approaches the Cadillac, looks in to see:
ROXY IN CADILLAC His bloody countenance among flowers, plants, the man obviously dead.
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Chili turned to the last page. Now the cops are there, lot of activity. Medics come out with Roxy in a body bag. Lovejoy watches, depressed, looks up. There’s Ilona. Ilona takes him aside and “with wisdom beyond her years” tells him it’s over and a few other things about flowers, saying, “Besides, making things grow is your life.”
Catlett said, “Well?”
Chili looked up, closing the script.
Catlett said, “Didn’t shoot him, like he should have.”
“He didn’t do
Catlett came up in the chair to lean on the desk.
“He makes it happen.”
“What, he planned it? He dives out of the way to save his ass, that’s all.”
“What you don’t understand,” Catlett said, “is what the movie is saying. You live clean, the shit gets taken care of somehow or other. That’s what the movie’s about.”
“You believe that?”
“In movies, yeah. Movies haven’t got nothing to do with real life.”
Chili was about to argue with him, but changed his mind and said, “I don’t like the ending.”
Catlett eased back again. “You want to change it?”
Chili didn’t answer, looking at the ZigZag script cover, opening it then and looking at the title page.
MR. LOVEJOY An Original Screenplay by MURRAY SAFFRIN
The title was the first thing that ought to be changed. And the guy’s name. Murray Saffrin was better than Lovejoy.
“You don’t care for the ending,” Catlett said, “and I don’t like the middle part. I’m thinking what we could do is fix it. You hear what I’m saying? Get some heat in it. Make the people’s hands sweat watching it. You and me, we could do it. It’s our kind of shit we talking about here. Like the action Roxy’s into you mentioned, doing stolen cars.”
“Fix up the girl’s part,” Chili said. An idea came to him and he said, “We might even be able to get Karen Flores.”
Catlett looked up at him. “Karen Flores . . .”
“She’s been out of movies a few years, but she’s good.”
Catlett said, “Karen Flores, I know that name . . .”
“Change the ending,” Chili said, “so Lovejoy’s the one makes it happen, he isn’t just standing there.”
“We could do all that,” Catlett said, “you and me, sit down and write the script over where it needs it.”
Chili opened the script again, flipped through a few pages looking at the format. “You know how to write one of these?”
“You asking me,” Catlett said, “do I know how to write down words on a piece of paper? That’s what you do, man, you put down one word after the other as it comes in your head. It isn’t like having to learn
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how to play the piano, like you have to learn notes. You already learned in school how to write, didn’t you? I
Chili said, “That’s all there is to it?”
“That’s all.”
Chili said, “Then what do I need you for?”
He heard the elevator as he was opening the door to 325, looked down the hotel hallway and saw Karen coming toward him, Karen in a loose-fitting white shirt and gray slacks. Chili pushed the door open and waited, two copies of
“I was in the bar when you came in,” Karen said. “I thought you saw me.” He shook his head saying no, but was glad to see her now, motioning Karen to go in. She said, “Well, I read it.” He followed her into the living room, the pagoda lamps still on, and dropped the scripts on the counter. A light on the phone was blinking on and off.
“You want to check your messages?”
“I can do it later,” Chili said. “Sit down, make yourself comfortable. I want to hear what you think.”
He took off his suitcoat as Karen went over to a fat chair next to the sofa.
“You read the script . . .”
“I could play the sister,” Karen said, “and wear sensible shoes. That would be a switch.”
Chili moved to the sofa, folding his suitcoat.
“I don’t see you doing that one, the sister.”
He laid the coat next to him as he sat down.
“But there isn’t anything else, as it stands, you’d want to do.”
“I wasn’t really looking for a part.”
“There could be a good one though. I got some ideas.”
Karen said, “You do, huh?”
Looking at Karen he could see the phone on the counter above her, the message light blinking on and off. It would have to be Tommy, something about Bones maybe, or Nicki. He began telling Karen how he thought the script needed to be fixed, change the whore to make it a bigger part: how she helps Lovejoy out and pretty soon they have something going.
“The hooker and the florist,” Karen said.
“You wouldn’t have to be a hooker exactly.”
“Mousse my hair and chew gum? Why don’t you check your messages?”
“I can wait.”
“You’ve read the script?”
“Not all of it, but I know what it’s about.”
“You and Harry’ll make a great team. Has he read it?”
“He bought it, he must’ve.”
“You sure? Harry used to have someone else read for him. Then he’d skim it if he thought he was going into production.”
“He told me he read it twice.”
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“This one he might’ve. You like the idea?”
“Basically, yeah, except what I mentioned. The part I read, the ending, I didn’t like ’cause it’s a letdown. You know what I mean? Lovejoy’s just standing there.”
“What do you think he should do?”
“Well, if he’s the star he’s the one ought to make it happen. Get some action going that’s his idea.” She kept looking at him and he said, “I don’t like the title either.”
“Harry thinks he needs you,” Karen said, “but he can’t pay you anything, he’s broke.”
