Hollywood Tough (2002) by Stephen - Scully 03 Cannell Page A
Authors: Stephen - Scully 03 Cannell
Ads: Link
He said you could set it up for me?"
"Sure, glad to. Congrats." Then the receptionist leaned forward and whispered, "He usually only does this for the actresses he's thinking of casting."
Shane got up and, without waiting to be invited, stuck his head into the office. "Nicky.. . Got a minute?"
The receptionist exploded out of her chair and dove through the door in a failed attempt to stop him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Marcella, I know you said you'd see him, but he doesn't have an appointment and we're running late."
"No problem, Daphne. Come on in, Shane. I want you to meet some people."
Shane entered a large paneled office. On the shelves were all kinds of knickknacks and awards. The desk was the approximate size and shape of an Egyptian sarcophagus. There were two large leather couches, some pull-up chairs, and five seedy-looking men in short-sleeved polo shirts and pleated pants. They were all fat, and three looked like they were hiding watermelons under their shirts.
"Shane, I'd like you to meet the investors," Nicky enthused. A round of names was exchanged, which Shane made no effort to remember.
A toilet flushed and a door in the back of the room opened. A sixth man came out of Nicky's private executive bathroom. He was in his middle to late fifties, with a sallow complexion, and was wearing a baseball cap backward. A dangling cross hung from his left ear. Had to be the director.
"My God, that girl is the one," the man said. "What acting chops. New York--trained. I saw some Stella Adler in that read. When she found the baby in the Dumpster and did the dead Marine soliloquy seriously, I like fucking almost lost it myself."
"We've got our Marsha," Nicky exclaimed. "My God , that really takes the pressure off. Who's her agent?"
"Inter-Talent," the sallow-faced man said, looking at the casting sheet. "Whatever you do, don't tell that shmuck Marty Kittlebaum that she's got the part. Just say you hated her read but I begged you to keep her on the list. We gotta keep her price down if we can."
Nicky grinned and nodded, then made an expansive introduction. "Shane Scully, this is our director, Milos DeAngelo. You probably remember his simply brilliant, award-winning film Intermezzo."
"I musta been outta town that weekend," Shane said. "He also did Mandalay Music and The Grasshopper Factory."
"Missed those as well."
The director glowered. Shane hadn't seen his work. Milos angrily turned away, snapping up the casting sheet instead, checking to see who was next.
"Nicky, I need to talk to you," Shane said.
"Did you find Carol White?"
"Yes."
"He found our Cherise," Nicky proclaimed to the investors and Milos, clapping his hands with glee. "Wait' 1l you see this girl, she's perfect. This is some lucky day. First our Marsha, now Cherise. Awesome, awesome news, Shane."
"Can I talk to you alone for a minute?"
"Yeah, sure." He turned to Milos. "Why don't you guys read the next girl? I'll be right back."
He led Shane out of his suite, across the hall, past the lineup of girls in the chairs, and into an adjoining office. They entered and he closed the door. "Are these girls gorgeous?!" Nicky beamed. "You wonder why they all came dressed in heels and booty shorts?"
"No"
"I put it in the damn script . . ." He grinned, then he pulled a set of sides out of his pocket and pointed to a shot description and read it for Shane aloud: "Marsha is a beautiful girl, wearing extremely tight short-shorts, four-inch stiletto heels, and a revealing top." He grinned at Shane. "These are the little casting tricks you learn when you're a player," he bragged, "otherwise casting days can get long and boring."
"Nicky . . . please, can we talk about Carol?" Shane said, not in the mood for any of this.
"Right. So you found Carol . . . this is awesome news, Shane. Go on, tell me. Where is she?"
"She's a junkie, Nick. Heroin or eight-balls. She's shooting something hard and turning tricks down on Adams Avenue. Got a pimp named Paul Mills, a real
"Sure, glad to. Congrats." Then the receptionist leaned forward and whispered, "He usually only does this for the actresses he's thinking of casting."
Shane got up and, without waiting to be invited, stuck his head into the office. "Nicky.. . Got a minute?"
The receptionist exploded out of her chair and dove through the door in a failed attempt to stop him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Marcella, I know you said you'd see him, but he doesn't have an appointment and we're running late."
"No problem, Daphne. Come on in, Shane. I want you to meet some people."
Shane entered a large paneled office. On the shelves were all kinds of knickknacks and awards. The desk was the approximate size and shape of an Egyptian sarcophagus. There were two large leather couches, some pull-up chairs, and five seedy-looking men in short-sleeved polo shirts and pleated pants. They were all fat, and three looked like they were hiding watermelons under their shirts.
"Shane, I'd like you to meet the investors," Nicky enthused. A round of names was exchanged, which Shane made no effort to remember.
A toilet flushed and a door in the back of the room opened. A sixth man came out of Nicky's private executive bathroom. He was in his middle to late fifties, with a sallow complexion, and was wearing a baseball cap backward. A dangling cross hung from his left ear. Had to be the director.
"My God, that girl is the one," the man said. "What acting chops. New York--trained. I saw some Stella Adler in that read. When she found the baby in the Dumpster and did the dead Marine soliloquy seriously, I like fucking almost lost it myself."
"We've got our Marsha," Nicky exclaimed. "My God , that really takes the pressure off. Who's her agent?"
"Inter-Talent," the sallow-faced man said, looking at the casting sheet. "Whatever you do, don't tell that shmuck Marty Kittlebaum that she's got the part. Just say you hated her read but I begged you to keep her on the list. We gotta keep her price down if we can."
Nicky grinned and nodded, then made an expansive introduction. "Shane Scully, this is our director, Milos DeAngelo. You probably remember his simply brilliant, award-winning film Intermezzo."
"I musta been outta town that weekend," Shane said. "He also did Mandalay Music and The Grasshopper Factory."
"Missed those as well."
The director glowered. Shane hadn't seen his work. Milos angrily turned away, snapping up the casting sheet instead, checking to see who was next.
"Nicky, I need to talk to you," Shane said.
"Did you find Carol White?"
"Yes."
"He found our Cherise," Nicky proclaimed to the investors and Milos, clapping his hands with glee. "Wait' 1l you see this girl, she's perfect. This is some lucky day. First our Marsha, now Cherise. Awesome, awesome news, Shane."
"Can I talk to you alone for a minute?"
"Yeah, sure." He turned to Milos. "Why don't you guys read the next girl? I'll be right back."
He led Shane out of his suite, across the hall, past the lineup of girls in the chairs, and into an adjoining office. They entered and he closed the door. "Are these girls gorgeous?!" Nicky beamed. "You wonder why they all came dressed in heels and booty shorts?"
"No"
"I put it in the damn script . . ." He grinned, then he pulled a set of sides out of his pocket and pointed to a shot description and read it for Shane aloud: "Marsha is a beautiful girl, wearing extremely tight short-shorts, four-inch stiletto heels, and a revealing top." He grinned at Shane. "These are the little casting tricks you learn when you're a player," he bragged, "otherwise casting days can get long and boring."
"Nicky . . . please, can we talk about Carol?" Shane said, not in the mood for any of this.
"Right. So you found Carol . . . this is awesome news, Shane. Go on, tell me. Where is she?"
"She's a junkie, Nick. Heroin or eight-balls. She's shooting something hard and turning tricks down on Adams Avenue. Got a pimp named Paul Mills, a real
Similar Books
