over him. As if unconsciously, he began to play the mimic, started doing characters. Like a lot of passive people, he seemed to have a knack for this. “She complained a lot about her job.
I do all the work, I don’t get the credit. No one even knows it’s me up there!”
Jake the ghostwriter glanced down at his chilled and shriveled pecker floating in the water. “Sometimes that’s just how it goes.”
“Right,” said Bryce, “but the boyfriend, he’s like sick of hearing it. Ya hate the work so much, why do it? And she’s like, I don’t hate the work. I love the work, ya moron, that’s the problem. And he’s like, That makes no sense to me. And she’s like, Figures that it wouldn’t. A little too complex. And he doesn’t quite get that, so he starts in on something else. So why you don’t stop bitching and let me help. She laughs. Help, right. He says, Like what if something happens to this other broad? She says, You know what? You’re ridiculous. And back and forth and back and forth until finally they break up.”
Standing in the pool, elbows spread out on the tiles, Jake said, “Wait a second. They broke up over
that
?”
“Over what?”
“Over him threatening the other actress.”
Mildly, Bryce said, “Oh I don’t think it was a real threat. Just beating his chest. He threatens everybody. That’s what he does. Some people say hello. This guy says he’ll break your legs.”
“He threaten Donna when she dumped him?”
“Sure. Of course. All the usual drama, tough guy stuff.
You’ll regret it. You’ll be sorry —”
He broke off abruptly because Jake’s cell phone had started ringing. The phone was on a resonating metal table that made the ring seem very harsh and loud. Bryce started walking toward it and said to Jake, “You need to take that?”
Jake hesitated. He didn’t want to take the call. He wanted to pursue the conversation. But before he could actually decide if he would take the call or not, Bryce had handed him the phone and he’d said hello.
It was Quentin Dole calling from L.A.
As encounters with Quentin almost always did, this one started pleasantly enough. “How are you, Jake?” he said.
There was seemingly genuine concern in his voice and Jake assumed this was in reference to what had happened to Donna. That would have been the natural thing, the human thing. Jake said, “Little upset, to tell the truth.”
The answer, oddly, seemed to take the producer by surprise. He hesitated a moment, then said, “Yeah, yeah, it’s terrible what happened. Awful. We’ve already got people working on it.”
“Working on it?” Jake said. He was still standing in the chest-deep water. Bryce moved a discreet distance from the pool, not that he wasn’t listening anyway.
“You know, managing it. Shaping the story. How it plays with the media. Our lead publicist should just be landing in Miami.”
“Publicist? Quentin, this woman is really busted up. She could’ve died. Who knows what kind of recovery she’ll make?”
“She’ll be fine. She’s union, she’s got great insurance.”
“This isn’t about fucking insurance. It’s about what happened to this person. And you have no idea if she’ll be fine or not.”
“You sound a little upset,” the producer said.
“I just told you I’m upset. I guess you weren’t listening.”
“I guess I missed it. Sorry. But I wanted to talk to you about your book. I’ve had a few ideas.”
“My book?”
“Remember,” said Quentin, “when we were kicking things around, you mentioned a global conspiracy as one kind of story we might do? Well, I got back here and it clicked. There’s this character, maybe he’s a scientist, or a spy, or someone working for a really smart and radical Greenpeace kind of outfit. Something like that. And he stumbles onto something he’s not supposed to know.”
Jake had spun away from the edge of the pool and was pacing in slow motion through the water. “Quentin, I really
I do all the work, I don’t get the credit. No one even knows it’s me up there!”
Jake the ghostwriter glanced down at his chilled and shriveled pecker floating in the water. “Sometimes that’s just how it goes.”
“Right,” said Bryce, “but the boyfriend, he’s like sick of hearing it. Ya hate the work so much, why do it? And she’s like, I don’t hate the work. I love the work, ya moron, that’s the problem. And he’s like, That makes no sense to me. And she’s like, Figures that it wouldn’t. A little too complex. And he doesn’t quite get that, so he starts in on something else. So why you don’t stop bitching and let me help. She laughs. Help, right. He says, Like what if something happens to this other broad? She says, You know what? You’re ridiculous. And back and forth and back and forth until finally they break up.”
Standing in the pool, elbows spread out on the tiles, Jake said, “Wait a second. They broke up over
that
?”
“Over what?”
“Over him threatening the other actress.”
Mildly, Bryce said, “Oh I don’t think it was a real threat. Just beating his chest. He threatens everybody. That’s what he does. Some people say hello. This guy says he’ll break your legs.”
“He threaten Donna when she dumped him?”
“Sure. Of course. All the usual drama, tough guy stuff.
You’ll regret it. You’ll be sorry —”
He broke off abruptly because Jake’s cell phone had started ringing. The phone was on a resonating metal table that made the ring seem very harsh and loud. Bryce started walking toward it and said to Jake, “You need to take that?”
Jake hesitated. He didn’t want to take the call. He wanted to pursue the conversation. But before he could actually decide if he would take the call or not, Bryce had handed him the phone and he’d said hello.
It was Quentin Dole calling from L.A.
As encounters with Quentin almost always did, this one started pleasantly enough. “How are you, Jake?” he said.
There was seemingly genuine concern in his voice and Jake assumed this was in reference to what had happened to Donna. That would have been the natural thing, the human thing. Jake said, “Little upset, to tell the truth.”
The answer, oddly, seemed to take the producer by surprise. He hesitated a moment, then said, “Yeah, yeah, it’s terrible what happened. Awful. We’ve already got people working on it.”
“Working on it?” Jake said. He was still standing in the chest-deep water. Bryce moved a discreet distance from the pool, not that he wasn’t listening anyway.
“You know, managing it. Shaping the story. How it plays with the media. Our lead publicist should just be landing in Miami.”
“Publicist? Quentin, this woman is really busted up. She could’ve died. Who knows what kind of recovery she’ll make?”
“She’ll be fine. She’s union, she’s got great insurance.”
“This isn’t about fucking insurance. It’s about what happened to this person. And you have no idea if she’ll be fine or not.”
“You sound a little upset,” the producer said.
“I just told you I’m upset. I guess you weren’t listening.”
“I guess I missed it. Sorry. But I wanted to talk to you about your book. I’ve had a few ideas.”
“My book?”
“Remember,” said Quentin, “when we were kicking things around, you mentioned a global conspiracy as one kind of story we might do? Well, I got back here and it clicked. There’s this character, maybe he’s a scientist, or a spy, or someone working for a really smart and radical Greenpeace kind of outfit. Something like that. And he stumbles onto something he’s not supposed to know.”
Jake had spun away from the edge of the pool and was pacing in slow motion through the water. “Quentin, I really
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