But I’m right, too.
Eleanor just cemented the belief that my name comes with a stigma, good or bad. If I said who I was I might get a larger response, but I really want to find out who will submit their reels and resumes based on the desire to make a film. I want that to be enough. Stubbornness was handed down by my mother and I have to try this.
I’ll tell the people I’m a Cocker after I hire them, but not until I’m confident they’re gung-ho for the right reasons. That’ll ensure I’m surrounded with passionate, indie-minded people who care about storytelling so much, they’re willing to come in on the ground floor if the project is interesting enough.
And that’s what I’ll put in my ad.
Whistling to myself, I do my shopping with an optimistic bounce in my step.
CHAPTER 4
M AX
O n the end of the fourth day of interviews I’m rubbing my eyes, sighing, “Holy fuck.”
The applicants who’ve paraded through this rented office space have been one big hell-no after another.
“I did a home movie once. It didn’t turn out so great.”
“I can only work Tuesdays. After ten. At night.”
“I’ll produce it if you give me the lead role.”
“What does a producer do exactly?”
“No, I didn’t read the script, but I’m sure it’s great.”
“I’m not drunk...why?”
Replaying the memory to myself I answer, “Because you smell like you showered in Tequila, that’s why. Because you slurred the word, hello. Because you’ve got the attention span of a young child.”
To the ‘maybes,’ I’ve verbally pitched my screenplay so many times to the point where even I’m not excited about it anymore. Leaning back on the modern couch I rest my eyes. “There’s always tomorrow, Max, don’t give up.”
I hear the door open, but I’m not expecting anyone else. I slowly travel a discouraged gaze from the floor on up over black high heels, leather pants, and a light pink sleeveless blouse that flows when she moves. Waking up a little I ask, “Can I help you?
“I heard you’re looking for a producer.”
“Who’d you hear that from?”
She holds my interest as her graceful body slides onto the seat opposite me. I like her hair, a long bob with the front longer than the back. It’s dark brown, the ends dyed hot pink, brighter than the pale polish on her nails, the hue of her blouse.
“You’ve been interviewing people all day. I wondered what the job was. Saw someone leaving and asked what this was all about. We were fumigating so my boss rented one of the studios in this building, and I just finished up his books.” Leaning forward to set her purse down I get a good glimpse of her cleavage. Perky. I know that perked me up. Not sure if it was intentional but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was. “What’s your project? TV show?”
Sitting up in black slacks and a tucked in white button-up, top open, I reply a curious, “No. Do you work in TV?”
Sliding a long fingernail under her bangs she answers, “No.” We stare at each other a moment before she repeats the question, “What’s your project?”
“Do you have any experience?”
“I’ll tell you that when you tell me what you’re working on.”
“Okay, you’re interesting.” I glance away to gather the energy I’ll need to tell this story one more fucking time. “I’m making a movie. Doing it my way, my money. I don’t want investors because I don’t want anyone telling me how to do it. So if it fails then it’s on me.”
“On you and your team, you mean,” she corrects me, light brown eyes sharp.
“But they’ll be getting paid, I won’t. Not unless it makes money, and they’ll get a cut of that, too. I’m the only one who takes the hit. I don’t expect anyone to quit their jobs for this. It should be only three and half weeks if I get my way. But nobody’s working for free except me. In fact, I’m paying to work.”
“Feature or short film?”
“Feature length. It’s based on a story of something that happened to my dad when he was my age. He fell in love with a beautiful girl, a model.”
“And how is that interesting?”
Pausing I tip my chin. “You didn’t let me finish.”
“Go ahead then.”
Chuckling, “Gee thanks,” I continue, “The model was an addict. Cocaine, when he was with her. It got heavier later. He lost everything until his brothers stepped in and said enough. I want to tell the story. It’s not told often, and when it has been it felt empty to me. No real pain behind it. No heart. No reason why it all went down in the first place. How it got that bad.”
“We hear stories about addiction all the time,” she corrects me, crossing her other leg, the leather making the sexiest swoosh. “What’s new about it?”
But I’m so frustrated I’m at the end of my rope. “You know what…fuck it.”
“Why?”
Jumping up I head for the door to show her out. “It’s been a long week and your attitude isn’t what I need on my set. So why don’t you head back to your boss, your books, and do whatever it is you were doing.”
Turning in the chair she watches me but doesn’t get up. “Aren’t you charming?”
“I could say the same for you.”
“I’m trying to get a read on you.”
“You picked the wrong day.”
“What’s the movie about?”
“I just said what it’s about!”
“Why do you want to tell it? Why does it matter to you?”
Losing my temper I take a couple steps toward her. “Why should I tell you!? I didn’t invite you here. You didn’t submit your resume to me. I don’t have to tell you shit.”
She cocks an eyebrow. “You’ve got the passion of an artist.” Rising from the chair she walks to meet me in the middle of the room. “I want to know what it’s about because if I’m
