Catch and Kill, page 12
“Okay, just wanted to brace you for the everyday realities. Anyway, I’m glad you reached out. Let me make a few calls and set something up, and I’ll send you all the details. See you soon.”
Angie hung up, pleased she’d connected with Nicole and taken a vital first step. But anxiety was already fomenting deep down. You’ve only put out a feeler. Don’t panic.
She lay down on the area rug in her small living room and absentmindedly petted Brontë, who had hopped up on top of her stomach, as she considered her situation.
On one hand, she knew she had the skill to read books and manuscripts quickly and assess what worked and what could be improved. She would be positioned to help writers potentially snag movie options—a huge prize—and steer business to Rita.
On the other hand, was she nuts to think she could work in Hollywood? Securing books for a white-hot studio led by a mercurial control freak? The stakes would be absurdly high even without unraveling the mystery surrounding Scarlett’s death.
Am I crazy to think I can do this? As intimidating as the move seemed, though, resuming work at Rita’s didn’t feel right, either. Something had shifted. Maybe forcing herself to go to the Oscars, to see Scarlett’s house again, to figure out how to deal with her anxiety moment by moment so she could meet those huge challenges, had taken her to a different place. She was reminded of what Dr. Barker had told her all those years ago in college: Don’t be afraid to take a risk. There’s no growth without risk.
“I think I’m ready to do this, Brontë. You can stay with Scotty’s family, okay?”
The cat blinked and stretched.
Her parents were somewhat less sanguine.
“You’re moving to Los Angeles?” her father demanded when she visited them the next day. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Gerry,” Ellen attempted to placate, placing a plate of cookies on the kitchen counter. “She has obviously decided it’s time for a career change.”
Angie looked up from her tea. “I need you both to sit down. Just for a minute.”
Ellen sat across from her while Gerry stood, staring at the ground.
Angie felt nervous, as she always did around her father, especially when he was angry. But it was important her parents started to see her as a capable adult. The mantle of the struggling middle child was wearing thin.
“I get that you don’t approve of this,” she began.
“Honey, it’s not—”
“Mom, let me talk.” Angie was surprised at the strength in her voice. “Losing Scar was the worst thing ever, but you guys won’t talk about it.” She put up her hands to stifle any response. “I need to come to terms with it. And maybe moving to LA will help.”
There was a long silence as she looked from her mother to her father and back again. Ellen clasped and unclasped her hands. Gerry glared straight ahead, past his daughter, stone-faced.
“Where will you be working?” her mother finally asked.
“I’m not sure yet, but I have some prospects,” Angie said carefully. Her father was reacting so badly to the news of her move that she didn’t want to pile on that she was seeking a job at DreamWeaver. “And I thought I would live at Scarlett’s. Maybe that sounds morbid, but I stopped by the house when I was out there, so the initial shock of seeing it again is over. And I’ll save money that way. Her estate is paying the mortgage—right?—so all I’ll have to worry about is food and utilities, maybe a few new clothes.”
“What about a car?” her father pointed out. “You can’t just hop a subway to Topanga Canyon.”
He had a point, but Angie had already thought about that.
“I looked into a car lease. I have some savings . . .” She’d managed to put some money aside, even in New York, because she lived cheaply. She had zero interest in hot restaurants or exclusive clubs where you waited behind velvet ropes to be admitted—the thought of the latter made her shudder.
“We can help you out.” Ellen fixed her husband with a stare that dared him to contradict her. “It’s the least we can do, isn’t it, Gerry?”
But Angie’s father wasn’t listening. He was looking at Angie with a cold expression. He didn’t even seem angry anymore. “You have it all figured out, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for her to respond before he left the room.
***
Figured out or not, a week later Angie, a leather backpack slung over her shoulders, was wheeling two huge suitcases behind her through LAX. She had reserved a rental for a few days until she could get a leased car, and soon was nervously navigating the drive along Pacific Coast Highway to Scarlett’s house with the help of the GPS. She kept her lavender oil at the ready, inhaling at regular intervals. When her phone buzzed with a text, she didn’t dare take her eyes from the road, calling back via Bluetooth. “Hi, it’s Angie. I’m in traffic—”
“Oh, good, you’re already in town,” Nicole chirped through the ether. Angie’s heart was pounding. She had to keep her attention on her driving . . . It was just Nicole. She’s friendly. Breathe. Watch the road. Inhale.
“Charles and his team want to meet with you this week. I can email you the details.” She sounded so self-assured. Angie admired that.
“Sure, sure, that sounds fine. What should I bring? I can draft a list of top-selling books I’ve worked on and—”
“Yes, that’s good, but the most important thing is, be yourself. Remember that Charles likes people who know their mind. Don’t be afraid to voice an opinion if they ask you about a film or even a particular actor’s performance. You can be diplomatic, but don’t be wishy-washy.”
“Turn left ahead.”
“What?”
“Oh, sorry, that’s the GPS. I’m—”
“Oh, I should let you go—”
“No, that’s fine. I’m on Bluetooth, so it’s not a problem. So you were saying don’t be wishy-washy?”
“Right. Charles wants to know you’re someone who can pick a winner and deal with writers, agents, the whole shebang. I’ll email you a list of DreamWeaver’s top-grossing films of the past decade too.”
“Great.”
“Turn right.”
“Look, I’ll let you go, but there’s just one more thing.” Nicole hesitated. “I know you were just out here, but remember this is LA. We make movies. Image means a lot. If you want this gig, wear something stylish and, you know, a bit sexy. Show some edge. I gotta run. Drive safely, and I’ll see you later this week.”
Angie hung up. Show edge?
“Make a U-turn.”
***
Angie raided Scarlett’s closet and showed up at DreamWeaver three days later in charcoal heels, a tailored gray skirt that hit above the knee, a sky-blue silk shirt, unbuttoned just a bit, and a fitted black jacket. Her hair was clipped back on one side—she tried to style it similar to the way it had been done for the Oscars. Although she was a bit shorter than Scarlett, it all fit well, or well enough. She thought even if she didn’t look particularly sexy, at least she looked put together.
The building wasn’t a skyscraper like she was used to in Manhattan, but it towered over the neighboring structures along its block of Wilshire Boulevard as it turned from Miracle Mile into Beverly Hills. Gleaming in the California sun, the windows looked like mirrors, reflecting her image back at her as she stood on the sidewalk out front. It gave her the creepy sense of being assessed by unseen eyes, and she felt a wave of anxiety push up from her gut. She tried to brush it aside with a swipe of a hand across her forehead, putting a strand of hair back in place. Okay, Scar, here we go.
The corporate offices had multiple levels of security, of course, but she was quickly buzzed into the elevators that led up to the inner sanctum by a friendly security guard who sat in a half-moon alcove just inside the lobby. There was no question they were expecting her.
Nicole had said to ask for her when she arrived, and, as she rode silently in the elevator to the fourteenth floor, Angie hoped a quick check-in would quell her nerves. Each ding as the car passed the ninth, tenth, eleventh gave her pulse a rush.
When it dinged announcing the fourteenth floor, the doors slid open and she was confronted with another person behind another half-moon desk. A tall Asian woman in a fashionable outfit beamed at her. “Welcome to DreamWeaver.”
Angie got a guest badge and was told to wait in one of two red leather chairs facing the desk. A large fern sat between them. When Angie took a seat, crossing her legs, she took in the wall of glass behind the receptionist where she could see countless cubicles and beyond them, a wall of windows offering stunning views of the city.
“Hey!”
Angie gave a start and pulled her eyes from the sprawling vista to find Nicole standing before her.
“You look good! Nice to see you.” Nicole held out her hand and Angie stood to accept it. “Come on.”
She was effervescent and so lovely with her dark ringlets, huge amber eyes, and perfect complexion. But she also had a way of making Angie feel at ease as she led her down a hall lined with movie posters. Maybe it was her open manner and natural self-assuredness. Nicole, Angie considered, knew who she was and was totally comfortable with it.
“Thanks. I wasn’t really sure, you know, exactly what to wear.” Angie was barely able to get the words out of her mouth.
“Nah, it’s great. Now, the job is a CE, a creative executive. I know you’re new to the industry so that’s actually starting at the bottom in Development and working with a half-dozen other CEs, searching for IP—books, screenplays, articles, new stories. You’d be working under me.”
“I brought some printouts with synopses of books I’ve read and recommended to Rita, my old boss, and that were, you know, published, and they sold pretty well.”
“Right. That’s fine. Hang on to it as a reference if they ask. What Charles really wants to see is someone who will go to the mat for the studio. That nothing will stop you from closing a deal to get a great book we can turn into a great film. You’ve already got the eye for books. Now you need to show them the dealmaker part of it. You know, Glengarry Glen Ross, ‘Always be closing.’ Can you do that?”
Angie swallowed. “Yup, I can do that. I am all about the closing.”
Nicole laughed. “Right. Okay, you ready?”
Nicole used a key card to take another elevator to the top floor, where they emerged to face double-glass doors that opened onto a gleaming suite of glass-and-metal tables, blue leather couches, and more gigantic movie posters. Two monster plants flanked floor-to-ceiling windows that afforded even more dizzying views of LA in all its glorious sprawl. They walked through the space and turned down a small hallway that ended at a single wooden door.
Nicole stopped and turned to her. “Okay, here we go. You good?”
Angie nodded, though she wasn’t feeling sure at all. Nicole gave a brief knock, and they walked into Charles’s office, where he and a handful of DreamWeaver staffers turned to face them.
Angie was half expecting an old-style mahogany room with a humidor and bookcases, but Charles’s office was spacious and light with beige walls, carpets in neutral hues, and a huge three-sided desk of blond wood. Off to either side were two strategically-placed minimalist ebony sculptures of the human form, one male and one female. Pops of color came from two paintings that looked like Jackson Pollocks and hung on opposite walls, chaotic explosions of vibrant squiggles and splashes. And in the middle of the room were two large blue leather couches.
Behind the desk, shelves held awards and photos of Charles with politicians, movie stars, and tech titans. One side was devoted entirely to baseball memorabilia: signed baseballs in display holders, photos of iconic images, framed ticket stubs, and a horizontal rack of wooden bats.
“So, you couldn’t stay away, huh?” Charles rose from behind his desk and warmly extended a hand. “Nice to see you again, Angie.”
She looked at him more carefully than she had at the Oscars and at the party when she was overwhelmed by so many people and the festivities. With his imposing physique, receding hairline, and fleshy face, Angie decided he made up for his lack of attractiveness with charisma and confidence. He was just as dominating a figure as she remembered.
She tried to meet his confidence with her own, giving him a flash of a smile and firmly shaking his hand. “Thanks so much for meeting with me. I can’t imagine what a busy schedule you must have.”
Charles put his other hand over hers. “Of course, of course. Look, if we want to make good films—and we do want to make good films”—he glanced around the room to prompt laughter, reminding Angie of old movies where everyone laughed when the king did lest they lose their heads—“then we have to invest in good material. And we need good people to spot that and help us beat others to it.” He looked her square in the eye. It was hard to imagine him fearing much of anything. No wonder he was able to build DreamWeaver from nothing.
“This is our executive team.” He gestured to the two people who sat facing his desk. “Tanya Castillo, I believe you’ve met. Tanya is our chief counsel, and this is my right arm, Kevin Li, head of production.”
Kevin held Angie’s gaze for a few seconds. He still looked every inch the fashionable hipster. His fitted green designer T-shirt was loosely tucked into the front of expensive jeans. He wore dark brown Italian loafers without socks and sported a tan, and, of course, his hair was swept up in a bun. One look at him was like scanning an ad for la dolce vita, LA style.
“Yes, of course,” Angie said. “Nice to see everyone again.”
“You, too.” Tanya gave her an enigmatic smile. Angie wondered if Tanya regretted getting so loose at the after-after party in the hills, or if she even remembered.
“Take a seat, please.” Charles phrased it like a suggestion but uttered it like a command. “Nicole, can you join us, or do you have someplace to be?”
Angie thought Nicole faltered for a moment. “I have a meeting with the new Development interns—”
Charles cut her off. “That’s great, Nicole. Well, if you have to run, I’ll talk to Angie with the team here.”
“I’ll talk to you again, I hope.” Nicole gave Angie an odd expression as she exited, but Angie couldn’t read it. One last shot of support?
Charles settled into the leather-bound chair behind his desk—it looked like his throne—and Angie sat on the couch beside Kevin. “Tell us a little about your work in New York. I have your CV here, but tell us more. You worked for a Rita Ray? I feel like I should know that name.”
“Rita’s a longtime literary agent.” Angie felt like she should address everyone but she couldn’t take her eyes away from Charles. “She’s developed dozens of really fine writers for years and—”
“Right, right.” Charles rifled through a script on his desk, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere.
Angie was starting to get a feel for DreamWeaver. In private companies, the leader set the tone, and here, that was Charles. He spoke when he wanted to. He cut you off when he’d heard enough. And the vibe in the room was that no one contradicted him. She could see him pushing people around on the Catapult set.
“And you’ve worked with quite a few good writers, I’m sure. Their books actually sold?”
Angie pulled out her notes. “Yes, I’ve helped develop a number of writers who’ve gone on to become pretty big names. I drew up a list here if you’d like to see it. These are some of the biggest names, and books, that Rita’s agency handled.” She rose and handed him a copy then glanced over at the others, but their eyes were glued to their phones when they weren’t keeping an eye on Charles.
“Mm-hmm.” Charles perused the paper. “David Tanner . . . I think I read something by him. Not this one, though. It was some thriller. Hellish something. Tanya, do you remember?”
“Hellish Encounter. We bought it, but we couldn’t get it out of development.”
Angie was eager to convince them she could do what they needed. “That book was David’s first or second, I think. When I left New York, we were in the process of putting the finishing touches on his latest, which is very captivating, and I think could—”
“Say, Tanya, Kevin, I think you can step out now and I’ll have a few words with Angie,” Charles announced.
And just like that, the two stood and walked out. It was so sudden, Angie was startled. Tanya had barely had a chance to chime in, and Kevin hadn’t said a word.
Alone with Charles, Angie kept her eyes on her list, not sure what would come next. Several moments passed. And then some more. She tried not to fidget. The atmosphere was uncomfortable. Maybe it’s a test? Does he want to see how long I can stand the silence? Should I say something? Is he sizing me up? Maybe he’s just distracted?
“So,” he finally said. “You want in, huh?” He stood and maneuvered so that he was behind where she sat, letting his hand graze her shoulder. “Scarlett Norris’s kid sister wants into the big, exciting Hollywood scene.”
She could almost feel the heat coming off his body. She could hear him breathing. It was weirdly seductive and very unnerving. Maybe that’s how things went in Hollywood. Maybe in a place that ran on power, money, beauty, and talent, everyone performed a sort of dance as they weighed who was right for whatever high-stakes project had the potential to make them even more gloriously rich and famous.
“Yes, I want in,” she said as clearly and firmly as she could. Charles was still behind her but she kept her focus straight ahead, remembering what Nicole had told her. Don’t be wishy-washy. Show some spark. Charles was no doubt testing her to see if she was easily rattled. If she wanted into Scarlett’s world, she would have to get past what was comfortable, what she knew.
