Heh, Elena Freire Valls was finally fed up and had decided to abandon her polite California ways.
“Sorry about that,” Fred said, uncomfortable.
“So, you wanted to talk?” I just wanted to get over that conversation and head straight to my bed.
“Wondering if you’ve heard about my next project...”
“NYC Misconducts, is it?” I tried to sound a bit more civil when I remembered Fred knew a bunch of people who could potentially become my next boss or my next producer.
“Exactly. It’s going to be a complete departure. A fresh new concept. A new challenge full of opportunity and creativity.” I promise you I did my best not to roll my eyes. But come on! He was talking about a fucking spin-off of a procedural show that had been molded around so many other pre-existing properties already. Could we at least stop pretending that what we were talking about was original!
“And I hear you want to be completely based in New York,” I said because I literally couldn’t think of anything else.
“It’s integral for the inception and development of the show that its team be based in Gotham City,” Fred said, and I think here I did let my eyes do all the rolling they wanted.
“I see.”
“I hear you’re not a big fan of the Big Apple,” Fred said.
Fucking Beatrice. I was surrounded by blabbermouths and gossipmongers.
“On the contrary, I love New York,” I said. And that was true. I loved going there every year. I attended a bunch of Broadway shows, went to more museums than I could remember, saw some friends, walked to the extreme of exhaustion. And then I returned home and put the mufflers, scarves, and mittens back at the bottom of the closet.
“So I’ve been misinformed then,” Fred said, and I’m aware that I was making things a little bit unpleasant with so much confrontation. But I really couldn’t give a damn. And I sort of liked the sensation.
“Are you attending the SAG Awards tonight?” I finally decided to change subjects.
“Yes. Amelia is nominated for the movie that me and Archie produced with her. Are you her plus one?”
“I think I’m supposed to be her plus one for the after party.” I suddenly remembered. And I guessed that at some point between then and that evening, I really needed to squeeze in that shower. Maybe even do something with my mop of hair.
“Well, let’s talk tonight then,” Fred said. “Beatrice said you’ll be more open to talk about your future then.”
How do you answer such a bunch of coded words and indirect terms?
“Let’s.” That’s how. I guess.
“And I hear you’re working on something else at the moment?” He was doing all the heavy lifting, carrying the weight of the conversation. But my mind was fried. I was tired and dragging my feet, and I really just wanted to be sleeping. Also, his fucking question reminded me of David, and that only made things worse.
“Been working on my spec,” I said, but what screenwriter wasn’t doing that? “And dabbling as an investigative reporter.”
“Really?” Fred sounded genuinely interested, and I couldn’t avoid feeling pleased about it. I can’t stress enough how much constant praise and reassurance writers need all the time. We’re needy.
“Well, since Dashing died in my building, as I’m sure you’ve read about it”—I didn’t leave him the option to comment on that—“I’ve been investigating on the side. See if there’s a movie to be written about it.”
“About how he died?” Fred asked.
“And who killed him,” I said. Even if I wasn’t anywhere near an answer for that, Fred was also a producer and I’d be needing one at some point. So I really needed to sell the hell out of the screenplay I hadn’t written—or even outlined—yet. “I mean, the story has everything: a Hollywood backdrop, a whodunnit, a controversial famous figure, and the whole true crime angle, which now is golden.”
“Do you know who killed him?” Fred asked and his interest was piqued for sure.
“Getting closer,” I bluffed.
As we continued with the power walk for a few more minutes, I finally breathed in relief when I recognized the parking area where we’d first started our hike. The loop from hell—and one of the most inconvenient meetings in my career—was finally about to be over. One good thing about Americans: they know how to do a proper quick sendout.
I was debating whether to ask Fred to drop me off somewhere a bit more convenient to hitch a ride from there or simply try my luck asking for an Uber to pick me up in the middle of nowhere with the advantage of having to wait for my transportation alone.
There weren’t that many cars parked at the structure that time of the morning. But one of them stood out even if it shouldn’t have. It was a perfectly common silver Toyota Prius. I recognized the red and green sticker right away. And Fred was heading to that car.
